Grown(46)

“Chanty! Chanty! You’re up.”

“Hey, little bits,” I say weakly. “How was school today?

Destiny nods her head. “Good. You feel better? You still got a tummy ache?”

Shea rolls her eyes and walks to our room.

I gulp down the beet juice, wishing it was purple.

Mom buys me a refurbished phone. We take it to Verizon and find we can’t salvage my pictures, contacts, or messages from my old phone.

In my room, I power it up, and the wave of text messages floods my screen, phone seizing in my hand. The newest one from Korey, sent this morning. A link to a song. Usher’s “Throwback.”

You never miss a good thing till it leaves ya

Finally I realized that I need ya

I want ya back.

There are almost fifty messages from him. All songs.

The smell of his cologne makes the room dip into a haze. The phone tumbles to the floor like a brick and I shoot up. Pulse racing, chills descend.

Alone. I’m alone. But I could have sworn he was right behind me.

“Mom! I need a new number.”

I text Gab a few times from my new number, telling her it’s me and that I’ll be starting school next week, but she doesn’t answer. She must have seen the stories by now. Page Six of the New York Post called it “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.”

It’s kinda clever.

Korey is all over the news, but not for what you’d think. It’s about his forthcoming gospel album, featuring some of the hottest names in the music industry. They’re all over Instagram, tagging him in every photo. His new music video premiers tomorrow. Documentary produced by Richie announced . . .

He’s everywhere, like water, spreading fast, and flooding.

My muscles . . . aren’t what they used to be. Mostly from the lack of exercise and nutritious food. Surprised the doctor in the emergency room didn’t find any bruises, breaks, or sprains. Just dehydration and an addiction to codeine.

I fight to fit my new curls under a swim cap. Mom and Coach sit on the sideline, murmuring to each other.

As I slip into the cool water, I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling, inhaling deep, waiting for relief.

Water can heal anything, Grandma once said. But does it heal hearts?

It’s not the same as floating in the ocean. Nothing seems to be the same anymore. I let myself sink, the world finally quiet.

“What I tell you about showing all that skin!”

Korey!

Bubbles full of my screams reach the surface before I can.

I yelp, thrashing and splashing, whipping my head around.

Is he here? Is he?

No one but Mom and Coach, now up on their feet.

“Chanty?” Mom asks. “You OK?”

I doggy-paddle to the edge of the pool, resting my head against the cement.

Trying to reclaim your life is a lot like drowning. You attempt to stay above water as waves of new information hit you sideways, carrying you further into the unknown. People throw life preservers, but the ropes can only reach so far, and once a riptide catches you by the ankle, all you can do is wonder why you ever thought you’d be OK jumping into the deep end, when you could barely manage the shallows.





Chapter 59


Barbershop Talk




Daddy has been avoiding me.

Thought it was just my imagination. Everyone has been giving me space. But Daddy . . . his absence is blatant. When I walk into a room, he walks out. When I say hello, he mumbles back. Eyes always down, never meeting mine, and even when they do, they seem sad and distant.

Mommy and Shea cut veggies for soup as the Littles gather around Daddy in the living room, watching Bambi.

“Um, Daddy?”

The entire house jumps at the sound of my voice.

“Yes?”

I hold up the clippers. “Can you hook me up?”

Daddy glances at Mom, something unsaid passing between them. She gives him a sharper glare and he hoists himself up quick.

“Sure.”

I straddle the toilet seat like I always have, the smock buttoned around my neck while Daddy sets up his tools. Mom pretends not to be watching from the kitchen, peeling yams. Shea entertains the Littles.

The bathroom is . . . tighter than I remember. I claw at my inner palm, breathing through my nose, out through the mouth. It’s just Daddy, I tell myself over and over again. I’m safe with him. I’m home and I’m safe.

Safe. Safe. Safe . . .

Daddy uses scissors on the top to cut down my curls as close as he can. The ringlets fall, bouncing off my shoulders.

“Been a while since I done this,” Daddy says, uncertainty in his voice. “Nice having the floor clean for a change.”

His voice is so flat I’m not sure if he’s kidding.

“You still charge the same?”

He shrugs. “We’ve gotten pretty popular since you’ve been . . . gone. Charging seventy-five now.”

I sigh with relief. “You can add it to my tab.”

The bathroom seems to open, just slightly.

“So. School on Monday? You, um, feeling up to it?”

“Yeah. Just want to get back to normal, you know?”

We glance at each other in the mirror, knowing we’ll never be normal again. He sets down the scissors and lifts the clippers. The buzzing makes me flinch.