Grown(20)

I gulp, my heart thumping, heat rising through my chest.

“And you know,” he starts, eyes on his paper, “maybe you can teach me something.”

“Something like what?”

He gives me a shy grin. “Aight, don’t tell nobody this . . . but . . . I’m a little scared of water.”

“Really? How come?”

“Man, I don’t know. Never really learned. Scared of drowning.”

“I mean, we’re all scared of drowning. Everybody trying to keep afloat. You just have to keep swimming. Like in Finding Nemo!”

“Ha, word! I like that.” He pauses to stare at me, his face seeming like he’s searching for something. “Well, maybe one day, you can, like, teach me how to swim. You know, since you a pro and all that. It can just be our thang, feel me?”

It’s warm. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, that it feels like my skin is on fire yet I’m comfortable in the blaze.

“I’d love to teach you how to swim.”

There’s a knock on the door. Jessica enters, her face a mix of concern and fear.

“Jessica, what the—”

“Excuse me . . . sir. Enchanted’s father is here.”

Korey shoots me an annoyed glance. “Thought you said we had two more hours,” he snaps.

My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“So you lied to me,” he hisses, walking toward me, just as Daddy enters the room, gazing at all the plaques and awards.

“Aye, what’s up, man! Sorry, I’m a little early,” he says, beaming at me. “Traffic was just too crazy, so I decided to turn around, pop back in. I, uh, didn’t mean to, uh, wreck y’all flow or nothing. I know how y’all artists can be sensitive about y’all ish.”

Korey, composing himself, winces a smile.

“Nah, it’s all good,” he says through clenched teeth. “We were just about to record. Enchanted, why don’t you jump in the booth and show your father what we’ve been working on?”





Chapter 23


History




In fourth-period US history, I’m busy doing math.

Korey is twenty-eight. I’m seventeen. That’s only . . . an eleven-year difference. When I’m eighteen, he’ll be twenty-nine.

Gabriela is three years younger than Jay.

Kylie Jenner was eight years younger than Tyga.

Beyoncé was eighteen when she met thirty-year-old Jay-Z.

Mom is seven years younger than Daddy.

It’s not that uncommon.

Mr. Thomas is talking about the Civil War. But there’s a different kind of war going on inside me, the kind that will take an infinite number of battles to win.

On one hand, I shouldn’t want Korey as much as I do.

On the other, I’ve never known anyone like him. We have so much in common. What if he’s my soul mate? My destiny?

Age ain’t nothing but a number, Korey once told me, and he’s right. People always say how mature I am for my age. Even Mom.

Still, it won’t look right. Hard to explain, how two souls swam across the universe and found each other.

Maybe I should wait, until I’m eighteen.

But . . . what if he finds someone else before then?

“Are you sure this is right? This doesn’t . . . hello? Earth to Enchanted!”

Gab copies my biology homework with a carrot stick hanging out her mouth.

“Huh? What?”

“Yo, what’s with you lately?”

“Nothing.” I choke out a laugh.

I haven’t told Gab yet. She has a way of asking questions that hit so sharp it could cut me open. Then she’d know.

“Whatever. So, I’m off this Saturday, and Jay is out of town. Want to hang out and do something fun and irresponsible?”

“Thought you said it’s your dad’s weekend?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s not speaking to me at the moment.”

“Still? Is it about Jay?”

She shrugs. “So do you want to chill or what?”

I want to pry, but Gab is a wall when it comes to her dad.

“Um, I can’t. I have . . . something.”

“Swim meet?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Cool. Well, your loss. Guess I’ll just Netflix and chill.”

I swallow, building up the courage. “I’m going to skip school tomorrow.”

Gab raises an eyebrow. “Really? For what?”

“There’s an audition. In the city. Mom isn’t going to take me so . . . I’m gonna go. Alone. Cover for me?”

Gab leans back with a smirk, impressed. “Well, look at you! This is a whole new Enchanted. Aight, I got you. Kill it!”





Chapter 24


Swim Lessons




Don’t forget your bathing suit.

Korey is waiting in a black-tinted Mercedes one block from the Harlem Metro-North train stop. Inside, it’s like nightfall. His hoodie is pulled up over dark sunglasses that almost take up his entire face. He reaches across the console and wraps me in a tight hug. His smell engulfs me and my body hums with the engine.

“You ready?” he asks.