The Hate U Give(88)

Maya and Kenya crack up.

My two worlds just collided. Surprisingly, everything’s all right.

The song changes to “Wobble.” Momma runs over and pulls me up. “C’mon, Munch.”

I can’t dig my feet in the grass fast enough. “Mommy, no!”

“Hush, girl. C’mon. Y’all too!” she hollers back to my friends.

Everybody lines up on the grassy area that’s become the makeshift dance floor. Momma pulls me to the front row. “Show ’em how it’s done, baby,” she says. “Show ’em how it’s done!”

I stay still on purpose. Dictator or not, she’s not gonna make me dance. Kenya and Maya egg her on in egging me on. Never thought they’d team up against me.

Shoot, before I know it, I’m wobbling. I have duck lips too, so you know I’m feeling it.

I talk Chris through the steps, and he keeps up. I love him for trying. Nana joins in, doing a shoulder shimmy that’s not the Wobble, but I doubt she cares.

The “Cupid Shuffle” comes on, and my family leads everybody else on the front row. Sometimes we forget which way is right and which is left, and we laugh way too hard at ourselves. Embarrassing dancing and dysfunction aside, my family’s not so bad.

After all that wobbling and shuffling, my stomach begs for some food. I leave everybody else doing the “Bikers Shuffle,” which is a whole new level of shuffling, and most of our party guests are lost as hell.

Aluminum serving trays crowd the kitchen counter. I stack a plate with some ribs, wings, and corn on the cob. I scoop a nice amount of baked beans on there somehow. No potato salad. That’s the devil’s food. All that mayonnaise. I don’t care if Momma made it, I’m not touching that mess.

I refuse to eat outside, too many bugs that could get on my food. I plop down at the dining room table, and I’m about to go in on my plate.

But the damn phone rings.

Everybody else is outside, leaving me to answer. I shove a chicken wing in my mouth. “Hello?” I chomp in the other person’s ear. Rude? Definitely. Am I starving? Hell yeah.

“Hi, this is the front security gate. Iesha Robinson is asking to visit your residence.”

I stop chewing. Iesha was MIA at Seven’s graduation, which she was invited to, so why did she show up to the party she wasn’t invited to? How did she even find out about it? Seven didn’t tell her, and Kenya swore she wouldn’t. She lied and told her momma and daddy she was hanging with some other friends today.

I take the phone outside to Daddy because, shit, I don’t know what to do. I go out at a good time too. He’s trying—and failing—to Nae-Nae. I have to call him a second time for him to stop that atrocity and come over.

He grins. “You ain’t know your daddy had it in him, did you?”

“I still don’t. Here.” I hand him the phone. “That’s neighborhood security. Iesha’s at the security gate.”

His grin disappears. He plugs one ear and puts the phone to the other. “Hello?”

The security guard talks for a moment. Daddy motions Seven to the patio. “Hold on.” He covers the receiver. “Your momma at the gate. She wanna see you.”

Seven’s eyebrows knit together. “How did she know we’re here?”

“Your grandma’s with her. Didn’t you invite her?”

“Yeah, but not Iesha.”

“Look, man, if you want her to come back for a li’l bit, it’s cool,” Daddy says. “I’ll make DeVante go inside so she won’t see him. What you wanna do?”

“Pops, can you tell her—”

“Nah, man. That’s your momma. You handle that.”

Seven bites his lip for a moment. He sighs through his nose. “All right.”

Iesha pulls up out front. I follow Seven, Kenya, and my parents to the driveway. Seven always has my back. I figure he needs me to have his too.

Seven tells Kenya to stay back with us and goes toward Iesha’s pink BMW.

Lyric jumps out the car. “Sevvie!” She runs to him, the ball-shaped ponytail holders on her hair bouncing. I hated wearing those things. All it takes is one hitting you between your eyes and you’re done. Lyric launches into Seven’s arms, and he swings her around.

I can’t lie, I always get a little jealous when I see Seven with his other sisters. It doesn’t make sense, I know. But they share a momma, and it makes things different between them. It’s like they have a stronger bond or something.

But there’s no way in hell I’d trade Momma for Iesha. Nope.

Seven keeps Lyric on his hip and hugs his grandma with one arm.

Iesha gets out. A bob haircut has replaced her down-to-the-ass Indian import. She doesn’t even try to tug her hot-pink dress down that obviously rode up her thighs during the drive. Or maybe it didn’t ride up and that’s where it always was.

Nope. Wouldn’t trade Momma for anything.

“So you gon’ have a party and not invite me, Seven?” Iesha asks. “A birthday party at that? I’m the one who gave birth to your ass!”

Seven glances around. At least one of Uncle Carlos’s neighbors is looking. “Not now.”

“Oh, hell yes now. I had to find out from my momma because my own son couldn’t be bothered to invite me.” She sets her sharp glare on Kenya. “And this li’l fast thang lied to me about it! I oughta whoop your ass.”