On the Come Up(66)

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was your business.”

“Bri, c’mon,” Sonny says. “You know we didn’t mean anything by the other day, right?”

“Wooow. That is a half-assed attempt at an apology.”

“We’re sorry,” Malik says. “Better?”

“Depends. Sorry for what?”

“For not having your back,” Sonny says.

“And for things being so different,” Malik adds.

“Different how?” Oh, I absolutely know how, but I wanna hear it from them.

“We don’t hang out as much lately,” Malik admits. “But don’t act like this is all on us. You’ve changed on folks, too.”

I stop. Mrs. Carson passes us in her beat-up Cadillac that’s older than my grandparents. She blows her horn and throws her hand up. We wave back. Typical for the Garden.

“How have I changed up on y’all?” I ask.

“This whole rap persona of yours? I don’t know that person,” Malik says. “Especially not the one who said that stuff on Instagram.”

Oh. “Y’all saw that?”

Sonny nods. “Yep. Along with half the internet. I can’t lie, I probably would’ve been pissed too. So . . .” He shrugs.

“Pissed is one thing, that was another,” says Malik. “Then at school—”

“Hold up, I haven’t changed at school,” I say. “Y’all are the ones with little time for me because you’ve got other people. For the record, I’m okay with that, but I won’t act like it doesn’t sting. Plus, y’all been hanging out together without me, researching Rapid.”

“I figured you had too much other shit going on to worry about that,” says Sonny. “We know your family’s struggling right now.”

“Is that all? Or do—” I can’t believe I’m actually about to say this. “Or do y’all not wanna be associated with me?”

Fuck, my eyes sting. See, there’s this teeny, tiny voice that’s made my thoughts its home for a while now. It says that Sonny and Malik are too brilliant at Midtown to be linked to somebody who’s not. They’re going places, so why should they hang out with somebody who’s only going to the principal’s office?

It’s believable. In fact, it’s so believable that it could be true.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sonny says loudly. “Bri, you’re my sis, okay? I knew you when you were afraid of Big Bird.”

“Oh my God, it is not logical for a bird to be that big! Why can’t y’all get that?”

“We knew Malik when he wore the same denim jacket for a year straight.”

“That jacket was comfortable as hell though,” Malik points out.

“And y’all knew me when I was a Justin Bieber fanboy,” Sonny adds.

Whew, that was a phase. He’s recently switched over to Shawn Mendes. “If you ever play ‘Baby’ again, I’ll murder you,” I say.

“See? We’ve been through the worst together,” Sonny says. “We even survived the great Killmonger debate.”

I bite my lip. The three of us exchange looks.

“He. Was. Not. An. Antivillain,” I clap with each word. “He was a straight-up villain!”

“Wow, really?” Malik says. “He wanted to liberate black people!”

“Nakia did too! You didn’t see her killing women to do it!” I say.

“How can you watch that flashback scene and not feel something for his fine ass though?” says Sonny. “C’mon!”

I kiss my teeth. “I feel more for the Dora Milaje whose throat he slit.”

“My point is,” Sonny says over me, “screw all that other stuff. Nothing can change what we’ve got.”

He holds his fist to me and Malik. We knock ours against it, give each other dap, and chunk the deuces like we used to do in middle school.

“Bam!” we say.

Just like that, we’re good.

Temporarily. You see, one day, I’ll be an old, gray-haired woman (without wrinkles because black don’t crack), and my grandchildren will ask me about my best friends. I’ll tell them how Sonny, Malik, and I were cool since womb days, that they were my ride-or-dies, my brothers from other mothers.

I’ll also tell them how a simple game of Mario Kart ended our friendship, because I’m about to chuck this damn controller across Malik’s living room.

“You did not throw a shell at me!” I screech.

Malik laughs as his Mario speeds by my Toad. Sonny’s Yoshi is ahead of both of us. This is our third race. I won the first one, and Sonny won the second, hence why Malik’s salty butt is resorting to dirty tactics.

Okay, yes, he’s using the shells like they’re supposed to be used, but this is me, dammit. Hit that ol’ trick known as CPU Bowser if you wanna throw a shell.

“Hey, you were in my way,” Malik says. “Mario’s gotta do what Mario’s gotta do.”

“All right, bet.” I’m gonna get him back, watch. Not just on the game either. He’s gonna need something from me. Could be tomorrow, could be ten years from now, and I’m gonna be like, “Remember that time you threw a shell at me in Mario Kart?”