On the Come Up(31)

Hope he “gets” that elbow.

“Dang,” he says. I turn around, and he’s bent over. “Violent butt.”

“Snitching butt,” I say through my teeth. “Just had to go and tell your grandma what happened, huh? You knew she was gon’ blab.”

“Ay, I just told her what happened at school, like a good grandson’s supposed to do. Ain’t my fault she’s telling everybody and their momma you got thrown onto the ground.”

“Wow. You think what they did to me is funny?”

The smirk disappears. “Nah. Actually, I don’t.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Seriously, Bri, I don’t. It’s messed up. I’m sick of them making assumptions about us.”

I feel that in my soul. There are more people with an idea of who they think I am than there are people who really know who I am.

“On God, bruh,” Curtis says, “them guards gon’ get what’s coming one day. On God.”

This is one time I don’t think he’s lying on God. “Don’t do anything stupid, Curtis.”

“Look at this. The princess is worried about li’l ol’ me?”

“Ha! Hell no. But if you think they’re bad now? Let something happen. We’ll be lucky if they let us back through the doors.”

Let’s be real: We’re black kids from one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. All it takes is one of us messing up, and suddenly all of us messed up. I’ve probably made things worse already.

“You right,” Curtis admits. “I would ask how you’re doing after all of that, but that’s a stupid question. The rumors at school probably ain’t helping, huh?”

“What rumors?”

“That you sell drugs, and that’s why Long and Tate went after you.”

So that person who uploaded the video isn’t the only one. “What the hell? How they figure that?”

“You know how it goes. It somehow went from you slipping folks candy in the halls to you slipping folks weed in the halls.”

“Woooow.”

“Look, ignore all that nonsense,” Curtis says. “Just remember you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Now I’m amused. “Look at this. You’re acting like you actually care about me.”

He bites his lip and stares at me for one long, awkward moment, in a way he hasn’t stared at me before. Finally, he says, “I do care about you, Bri.”

What?

Curtis reaches around me, his arm brushing against my arm, as he gets a Styrofoam plate from the table. His eyes meet mine.

“Brianna, baby,” Sister Daniels says. It’s my turn in line. “What you want, green salad or potato salad?”

My eyes are still locked with Curtis’s though.

He straightens up with a smirk. “You gon’ stare or you gon’ get some food?”





Ten


“Is Curtis cute?”

Sonny looks at me like I grew an extra head. “Which Curtis?”

I nod ahead. “That Curtis.”

It’s Wednesday, my first day back from suspension. Curtis is in one of the front rows of the bus. A “diamond” earring glistens in one of his ears, and his snapback matches his sneakers. He brags about his rating in some basketball video game to Zane-with-the-nose-ring. Loud as always and putting it “on God, bruh” that he’d beat Zane in a game, as always.

Sonny squints his eyes. He tilts his head one way and then the other. “I guess? He’s no Michael Bae Jordan.”

Lord. Ever since Black Panther, Sonny has sworn that Michael B. Jordan is the standard for fineness. I can see why though. When he took his shirt off in the movie, Sonny and I looked at each other and went, “Goddamn!” During that whole scene, Sonny squeezed my hand, going, “Bri . . . Bri!”

It was a moment.

“Nobody is Michael B. Jordan, Sonny,” I remind him.

“You’re right. That is some one-of-a-kind fine,” he says. “But I guess Curtis is cute in the same way rodents are weirdly adorable? You know how you’ll see a baby mouse and will be like, ‘Aw, cute!’ Until that bitch is raiding your cabinet, eating the Halloween candy you hid from your little sisters.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Um, you asked me if Curtis is cute. The only odd one is you, Bri.”

Touché. That question has been bugging me since Sunday. I mean, maybe he is a little bit cute? He’s short and kinda thick, which I like, can’t lie, and he’s got these really full lips that he bites a lot, especially when he’s smiling. His eyes are softer than you’d expect, like even though he talks a lot of shit, he’s really a teddy bear. He’s not a pretty boy, but I can’t stand pretty boys anyway. They usually act like they know they’re pretty. He’s just the right amount of cute that can be considered fine.

But it’s Curtis.

Curtis.

Sonny glances at his phone and slips it back in his jacket pocket. He got on the bus alone this morning. Malik wanted to work on his documentary in the lab before school.

“What’s got you wondering about Curtis’s looks or lack thereof?” Sonny asks. “Being on lockdown made you that desperate?”