Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(52)

Ma’s at the table reading letters. She puts them facedown and smiles at me, but her eyes look sad. No matter what expression she has on her face, I can tell how bad things are when the light in her eyes dims, like it has now.

“Hey, Von, how was school?”

“Good, Ma…” I look at the letter in front of her. “What’s that?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t pay electricity last month, so they’re just writing about that.”

“Ma—”

“No, Von, I don’t want you involved. I’m your mother and I’m meant to take care of you, not the other way around.” She drops her head, which she does when she doesn’t want me to see her cry.

“Ma, please let me help you, okay? I can get the money.”

She shakes her head. “I know what you want to do and I don’t want you doing that ever. I want you off those streets, in that classroom—making your life better, not jeopardizing it.”

I say nothing.

“I’ll sort it out. Borrow money or something,” she says weakly.

“The bank won’t give you any more loans, Ma.”

“It’ll work itself out, Vonnie. God never falters.”

I want to laugh. He never falters, huh? Isn’t our life one big falter?

I stand here, watching her get dragged down by those papers, feeling as helpless as she is. Then I lean in, wrapping my arms around her.

I swear I will do well, Ma. I’ll get you a house, and a life where you won’t have to work.

I pull back, then head for my room, while weighing my options. I could listen to Ma and stay inside; hear her cries for guidance through the walls at night, hear her pleading to a figure who turns away when we need him most. Or I could go to Dre, ask him for help.

I walk into my bedroom, dumping my backpack onto the king bed I share with my brothers, who are watching cartoons on the small TV in the corner. I get lost for a moment, watching with them. Their eyes are wide and innocent. They don’t have to worry about the world yet. They have no clue. I hope they’ve eaten.

Ma has her way of dealing with things—praying to someone who couldn’t give a shit about us and working jobs that don’t pay enough. She always tells me how much she wanted to go to college, but it’s not something you can afford just like that, or something you can aspire to if your teachers—and therefore your grades—are shit.

We can barely afford Niveus, with my scholarship not covering all the tuition fees.

But she wants this for me: college, a degree …

I change into some sweats and get an umbrella from the closet.

“I’m gonna go to Jack’s,” I tell her when I step back into the kitchen. She and I share a look, one we share often. The I don’t believe you, but stay safe Don’t cause any trouble Stay out of areas the police cars park in / Keep your head and hood down look.

“Okay, Von.” There’s hesitance. “Stay safe.”

Ma’s always let me have freedom, as long as my grades were in check and I didn’t get into trouble at school. But ever since her friend Maurice’s Nathaniel got shot by that officer back in June, she’s been looking at me weird, like she wants to take that freedom away to shield me from what’s out there.

She lets me go, and I step back into the rain, now unaffected by its wrath as I rush toward Dre’s apartment.

The guy at the door hesitates before going inside, coming back moments later with permission to let me in. My heart goes wild as I realize that I’m about to see Dre again for the first time in over a week. I know it’s not important, but I wonder if I look okay.

I close my umbrella and slowly climb the steps, trying to gain some nerve before entering Dre’s apartment. When I get to the top step, I breathe out.

Dre knows it’s me coming. If he didn’t want me to, he wouldn’t have let me in.

I open the door. His living room is dim as I slowly walk across it, worried I’ll trip and bump into something, fingers vibrating against my sides. His bedroom door creaks loudly as I push it, stepping through.

Dre’s at his desk, head tilted up, eyes closed like he’s dreaming. He’s wearing a green durag. His dark skin is bright despite the dullness of the lights, and his beard has grown out a little. He’s trying to look like he’s older than eighteen again, wants to be taken seriously. Meanwhile, I’m scared of what growing up means.

I think sometimes we—boys from here—are dealt such a shitty hand that we forget we are minors, kids, in the eyes of the law. I guess technically, eighteen is adult enough, but not when most of your childhood has been robbed, like Dre’s was.

“Hey, Dre,” I say. He doesn’t move.

“What do you want?” he asks, his deep voice rattling my heart. I’ve missed that voice.

“To talk,” I say. His eyes open and his head drops forward. His stare locks on me and I feel like uncooked meat hanging in the butcher shop, surveyed and judged.

He pushes himself out of the chair, slowly walking over to me, though he’s avoiding my gaze now.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he says. The pounding in my chest only gets faster.

“If that were true, you’d have told that boy to not let me in. You wouldn’t even respond.”

“We were friends. I wasn’t gonna turn you around, make you look like a fool,” Dre says with a forced laugh.