Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(33)

Maybe I don’t know myself like I thought I did.

Memory is weird like that.



* * *



Terrell didn’t really give me a choice in this—him walking me home—but I’m glad he didn’t. I can’t walk well without it hurting, and him helping me hop along makes the journey a little more bearable.

Plus, he doesn’t talk too much.

We get to my front door about twenty minutes later—it would have been half the time if I wasn’t injured. He finally lets go of my waist, letting me stand on my own.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling like those two words are inadequate.

He shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it. I’d do it for anyone in trouble.”

I nod, moving to turn.

“Wait,” he says, and I stop.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t give you a goodbye hug.”

I can’t help but smile slightly at the statement. “Goodbye hug?”

“I’m not sure when I’m gonna see you next, so I at least want a hug for the road.”

A hug for the road. That’s a first.

“Sure,” I say, and his dimples appear again.

He moves toward me and gives me a hug, and even though it hurts, I try not to let it show.

“Thank you,” I say again. It still doesn’t feel adequate. With the week I’ve had, it’s hard to remember the last time someone has been this nice to me.

We pull away, and I can breathe again, my sides angry at me for letting an intruder touch them.

“I could give you my number,” I suggest. “We could meet up or something.”

My friendships are disappearing daily, so I should find more of them before I become one of those real loners. At least before, I could pretend Jack and I were as close as we used to be in middle school, and I had Dre for company.

Terrell’s face lights up as he digs into his hoodie for his phone. I give him my number, and he looks down at his phone like he’s searching for something in it, then puts it back into his pocket.

“I’ll see you, then?” he says.

I nod. “Yeah … and thanks again.”

He starts walking backward, and I watch him. He keeps walking back and I keep watching him, and then he smiles and turns away, disappearing quickly in the direction we came from.

After a few moments lost in thought, I push our front door open to find Ma seated at the dining table in our dimly lit kitchen, reading through letters.

I can guess what they say, because they always say the same thing. I sometimes feel like I’m stuck in a loop, reliving the same day over and over. I come home, and Ma is always tired, always sorting through bills.

“How was school, Mr. Senior Prefect?” Ma says, not looking at me, just shuffling papers. She’s been calling me that a lot since I told her. I’m glad it makes her happy. It makes me feel like I’ve really accomplished something.

I don’t know how to answer her question. So I just say, “School was good, my music piece is coming together well, and I think I might have a decent shot at Juilliard—getting a scholarship too…”

She breathes out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. I take this chance to shuffle toward her, trying not to make my injuries obvious as I bend down to kiss her bowed head.

“I’ll be back, lemme just grab something,” I say in an almost whisper, before abandoning my backpack and climbing the stairs as quickly as I can to my bedroom.

I hate seeing her look so broken all the time. She didn’t want me to get a job, said it would distract me from school, and she’s probably right. But I can’t just sit back and let her struggle like this. Watch her cry like that.

When you grow up like this, whether it’s in your nature or not, sometimes survival overpowers doing the right thing.

I search in my drawer for the envelope filled with twenties. I try not to make much noise, despite feeling like my ribs are cracking against each other. My brothers are already asleep, and it’s hard to get them both to sleep at the same time.

I close the drawer quietly, hobbling back down the stairs now. My thighs ache from the uneven pressure I’m placing on them. When I finally get to Ma, I place the envelope in front of her.

She looks up at me, eyes tired and glassy, and then she moves to stand, cradling my face in her wrinkled Black hands. She says nothing about my face and why it’s beaten; she just strokes it.

We’ve been here before.

“I’ll get you some ice for that…,” she mumbles.

I shake my head, knowing we don’t have any frozen food bags in the freezer this week.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, my voice breaking, but not because of the injuries. My heart really hurts.

She nods, looking away from me and down at the money now.

“Vonnie, where did you get this kind of money?”

“Don’t ask, Ma, please,” I say.

We always have this conversation when money gets really tight. She always wants to know where I get it from. Always.

And as I said, sometimes you have to do things that don’t exactly align with your morals, and I did those things so that we can have a little cash when we need it. I try not to think about how I’m gonna get the money next time now that me and Dre—

I stop myself, pushing him down a hole in my mind where I keep all the things I don’t want to talk about.