On the Come Up(35)

Malik’s tall enough that I spot him towering over several people as he makes his way down the hall. He’s laughing and talking to someone. Sonny, maybe?

But Sonny’s not a short, dark-skinned girl with a bun.

“Sorry I’m late,” Malik says. “Had to get Shana.”

Shana from the bus slips her coat on. Malik helps her with it part of the way. “Oh my God, I’m so looking forward to this. I haven’t been to Sal’s in for-ev-er.”

I think I know what a balloon feels like when it’s deflated. “Um . . . I didn’t know Shana was coming.”

“Wow. Really, Malik?” Shana punches his arm. “Forgetful butt.”

She punched him. I usually punch him.

He grabs his arm, laughing. “Dang, woman. It slipped my mind, okay? You ready, Bri?”

What the hell is going on? “Yeah. Sure.”

I walk ahead of them. I knew those two were cool with each other—the dancers have rehearsals after school, and Malik’s been staying late to work on his documentary, so he and Shana end up taking the city bus back to the Garden together sometimes—but I didn’t know they were this cool with each other.

They laugh and talk behind me as we head down the sidewalk. I grip my backpack straps. Sal’s is only a couple of blocks away. Usually when we go somewhere in Midtown-the-neighborhood we gotta abide by the rules. They’re unspoken but understood: 1. If you go in a store, keep your hands out of your pockets and out of your backpack. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re stealing.

2. Always use “ma’am” and “sir” and always keep your cool. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re aggressive.

3. Don’t go in a store, a coffee shop, or anything unless you plan on buying something. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re gonna hold them up.

4. If they follow you around the store, keep your cool. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re up to something.

5. Basically, don’t give them a reason. Period.

Thing is, sometimes I follow the rules and still deal with crap. Sonny, Malik, and I went into a comic shop a few months back, and the clerk followed us around until we left the store. Malik recorded the whole thing on his camera.

Sal’s is one of the only places where the rules don’t apply. The walls are dingy and tan, and all the booths have tears in the leather. The healthiest things on the menu are the peppers and onions you can add to a pie.

Big Sal takes orders at the counter and yells them to the folks in the back. If they take too long to get an order done, she’ll say, “Do I need to come back there and make it myself?” She’s as tiny as they come, yet everybody in Midtown and the Garden knows you don’t mess with her. This is one of the few places that never gets hit up.

“Hey, Bri and Malik,” she says when it’s our turn. When Trey started working here back in high school, Sal became the Italian aunt we never had. “Who’s this lovely young lady with you?”

“Shana,” says Malik. “She hasn’t been here in a minute, so please forgive her.”

Shana lightly elbows him. “Why you gotta snitch?”

Um, she is super comfortable with him.

“Ah, it’s okay. No hard feelings,” Sal says. “Once you have a slice though, you’ll be back soon. What will it be?”

“Medium pepperoni with extra cheese?” I ask Malik. That’s our usual.

“Ooh, can we add Canadian bacon?” Shana says.

“Sounds good to me,” says Malik.

One: Who adds Canadian bacon to a pizza?

Two: That shit isn’t even bacon. No offense, Canada. It’s skinny ham.

Sal puts our order in, takes Malik’s money (he insists on paying), gives us cups, and tells us to find a booth. She also says that Trey’s not here. He’s gone to lunch. Apparently it’s possible to get tired of eating pizza.

We fill our cups at the soda fountain, and Malik and I lead Shana to our little corner booth that we usually share with Sonny. Somehow, it’s always available. I honestly couldn’t imagine sitting anywhere else. We treat it the same way old ladies at Christ Temple treat their seats—if somebody ever beat us to our booth, we’d give them a stank-eye powerful enough to smite them on the spot.

Malik stretches his arm across the back of the booth, technically around Shana. I’m gonna act like it’s only across the booth though. “Can I hear the song now, Bri?” he asks.

Shana sips her soda. “What song?”

“Bri recorded her first song the other day. She played it for everyone on the bus this morning.”

“Ooh, I wanna hear it,” says Shana.

Had she been on the bus this morning, I would’ve had no problem letting her hear it. Now? Now is different. “Maybe another time.”

“Aww, come on, Bri,” says Malik. “Everybody heard it but me. You’re gonna have me feeling some kinda way.”

I’m already feeling some kinda way. “It’s not that good.”

“Considering how you’ve written some of the best rhymes I’ve ever heard in my life, I bet it is,” he says. “Like, ‘There’s a beast that roams my streets—’”

“‘—and he goes by the name of crack cocaine—’” I say my own lyrics.