The Projects

Breonna

He got in.

I knew before he said anything.

His mouth did this little twitch when he got to the second line. He bit his bottom lip right after, tried to hide it, but I knew him.

Five months wasn’t long enough to know everything about somebody.

It was long enough to know that.

“You got in.”

He looked up from the letter.

I smiled.

Or tried to.

“Baby, you got in.”

“Bree…”

“Let me see.”

He didn’t give it to me.

“Give me the letter.”

“What yours say?”

“Let me see yours first.”

“Bree.”

“Why you being weird? Give it.”

He held it out.

I snatched it.

Congratulations.

Howard University.

I kept reading.

Didn’t really need to. Congratulations was enough. Congratulations was everything.

“Oh my God.”

I looked at him.

His smile finally broke loose.

And there was my baby.

Happy.

Like really happy.

He’d been pretending not to care all week. Talking about whatever happens, happens like I hadn’t watched him check the mailbox twice yesterday when he knew damn well the mail had already come.

I jumped on him.

“You got in!”

He caught me laughing.

“I got in.”

“You got in!”

“I know!”

“You a Bison!”

“I’m a Bison.”

I kissed him.

Hard.

Probably too hard because he laughed into it, but I didn’t care.

He got in.

Starter.

Four-point-oh.

Stayed after practice doing homework while everybody else went to get food. Had me holding flash cards over FaceTime while he iced his knee. Took the SAT twice because he didn’t like the first score even though his first score was better than mine.

He earned that shit.

I pulled back.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“No, for real.”

“I know.”

“Your mama gonna cry.”

“Definitely.”

“Your daddy?”

“Probably tell me I need to put on twenty pounds.”

I laughed.

Then his eyes dropped.

To my envelope.

Mine was still sitting on the bed.

I wasn’t smiling anymore.

Not really.

He noticed.

“You ain’t read all of yours.”

“I read enough.”

“Bree.”

“They thanked me for applying.”

He didn’t say anything.

“That’s nice, right? Very polite.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Bree.”

“I don’t wanna read it again.”

He held his hand out anyway.

I looked at it.

Then at him.

Then gave him the letter.

He read it.

His face changed slower than mine had.

Like maybe if he kept reading there’d be another paragraph at the bottom saying sike, pack your shit.

There wasn’t.

He flipped it over.

I laughed.

“What you looking on the back for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe congratulations hiding by the return address.”

“Stop.”

“I’m just saying. Check the envelope too.”

“Bree.”

I got up.

There were three rejection letters in my bag downstairs.

This was number four.

Howard was just the one that mattered.

The others had hurt because nobody likes being told no.

This one felt personal.

Which was stupid.

Howard didn’t know me.

Some admissions person hadn’t looked at my application and said, Breonna? Fuck that girl specifically.

Probably.

Still.

I walked over to the mirror.

Latonya had done my hair earlier.

It looked good.

Really good.

I’d changed my mind halfway through and made her redo the front. She told me if I said “maybe a little more” one more time she was gonna shave me bald and send me home.

I had been so happy then.

Nervous.

But happy.

I’d bought this top two weeks ago and hid it from Mama because she’d ask why I needed a new top to open a college letter.

Because after the letters, we were supposed to celebrate.

And after celebrating…

I looked at myself.

I had shaved twice.

First time because I needed to.

Second time because apparently panic makes you forget whether you did a good enough job the first time.

I’d moisturized.

Put on the underwear that cost too damn much for how little fabric they gave me.

Spent twenty minutes deciding if perfume down there was a terrible idea.

It was.

Google saved me.

Thank you, Google.

“Bree.”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Cause I am.”

“You crying.”

I touched my cheek.

Damn.

“I wasn’t till you said something.”

He came up behind me.

Didn’t touch me yet.

I could see him in the mirror.

His letter was still in his hand.

Congratulations.

I hated that word.

Then I hated myself for hating it.

“You can be happy,” I said.

“What?”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Trying not to be too happy because I’m sad.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally just standing here.”

“With a sad face.”

“My face look like this.”

“No it don’t.”

He smiled a little.

I pointed at him through the mirror.

“That. Do that.”

“Bree.”

“Smile.”

He did.

Small.

“More.”

He smiled bigger.

“That’s what you supposed to look like.”

“And what you supposed to look like?”

“Not rejected.”

His smile disappeared.

Shit.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know.”

“I am happy for you.”

“I know.”

“I swear.”

“I know, Bree.”

I sat back down on the bed.

He sat beside me.

Downstairs somebody changed the song and the whole house screamed before the beat even dropped.

I knew the song.

Didn’t want to hear it.

I could hear people stomping.

Somebody hit the wall.

Then everybody started yelling the first verse wrong.

Normally I would’ve gone down there just to tell them they were wrong.

Instead I looked at our letters.

Side by side.

His future.

Mine.

Except mine didn’t say where I was going.

Just where I wasn’t.

“I’m going to community college.”

“For a year.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

“What if I don’t get in next year?”

“You will.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then we figure something else out.”

I looked at him.

Something else.

I didn’t want something else.

I wanted Howard.

I wanted the dorm.

The games.

Homecoming.

Walking across campus together.

Studying in the library and pretending we were actually studying.

Med school.

Residency.

Getting married somewhere in there.

Kids after.

We had talked about it so much it stopped feeling like something we made up.

It felt scheduled.

Howard was step one.

You can’t miss step one.

“You gonna meet somebody.”

His head pulled back.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nah. We not doing that. Who I’m meeting?”

“College girls.”

“There are girls in high school.”

“Not the same.”

“How?”

“They’re…”

I didn’t know.

College-ier.

Prettier probably.

More experienced.

Already there.

That last one was the real problem.

“They’ll be with you.”

“So?”

“So I’m not.”

“You my girlfriend.”

“Here.”

“You think Howard outside the country?”

“No.”

“You think I’m going to war?”

I looked at him.

He smiled.

I hated that I almost did too.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You’ll be at parties.”

“We at a party now.”

“With me.”

“And?”

“And what if some girl be all in your face and I’m not there?”

“I tell her I got a girlfriend.”

“What if she’s really pretty?”

“I tell the really pretty girl I got a girlfriend.”

“What if she got a fat ass?”

He looked toward the ceiling.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m asking.”

“Bree.”

“Cause college girls be having grown-woman bodies.”

“Where are you getting this information?”

“TikTok.”

“That’s your problem.”

I hit him.

He caught my wrist.

I tried the other hand.

Caught that too.

Now I was stuck.

“Let me go.”

“You done?”

“Yes.”

“You lying?”

“Yes.”

He laughed.

And I did too.

Just for a second.

Then I remembered.

Howard.

My laugh died before his did.

He saw it happen.

He let my wrists go.

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Bree.”

“You can’t call them.”

“Why everybody keep thinking I’m calling Howard?”

“Everybody is me.”

“Give me the phone.”

I handed it over.

He pulled up Howard’s website.

Transfer admissions.

I had already looked.

Three in the morning.

Under the covers.

Cried so hard I couldn’t read half of it.

But I looked.

He made me look again.

Not just at Howard.

My community college.

Transferable credits.

Prerequisites.

Deadlines.

He opened Notes.

Made a list.

I corrected him twice.

He told me if I already knew everything then I could stop acting like my life was over.

I told him fuck him.

He kissed my forehead.

We kept going.

Twenty minutes.

Maybe more.

The party downstairs got louder.

Then quieter.

Then somebody started singing terribly.

By the time we finished, there was a road again.

Not the road.

A road.

I could work with a road.

“You’re right, babe. I just need to put my nose in the books and I’ll be with you in one year.”

“Exactly. Then we study together, get into med school…”

“Do residency in the same place. And then…”

“Start that family we talked about.”

“Yeah…”

“Can’t wait.”

“Same.”

I looked at the list on my phone.

One year.

That wasn’t that long.

A year ago I barely knew him.

“I’m sorry I messed it up.”

He frowned.

“You didn’t mess anything up.”

“I was supposed to get in.”

“It’s a delay. Who cares when it happens as long as it happens?”

A delay.

I could live with a delay.

I looked at him.

Then his wallet.

Then him.

“Did you bring one?”

His whole face changed.

“Yeah!”

His voice cracked.

Bad.

I laughed.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothing.”

“You laughed.”

“You sounded twelve.”

“I was surprised.”

“Why? We talked about it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Now it’s happening.”

That made my stomach flutter.

Something that still belonged to tonight.

“But, um…” He looked at me. “We don’t have to.”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Bree.”

“What?”

“Are we?”

I looked at him.

He wasn’t stupid.

Sometimes I wished he was.

Would’ve made lying easier.

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Maybe.

I wanted him.

That part hadn’t changed.

I loved him.

That hadn’t changed either.

Howard had changed.

And I didn’t know yet how many other things Howard got to change with it.

He pulled out his wallet.

Dropped it.

I covered my mouth.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You are.”

“I’m supporting you.”

“Shut up.”

He found the condom.

Held it up.

Then immediately seemed to realize holding it up was weird and put his hand down.

I laughed harder.

“Can you get the lights?”

“Yeah.”

“And does this room have a lock?”

“Yes to both.”

“Okay.”

He walked to the door.

Locked it.

Hand went to the switch.

Stopped.

“Bree.”

“What?”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

I wasn’t sure at all.

The room went dark.

Not completely.

Streetlight came through the blinds, orange lines across the wall, the bed, his arms.

His belt jingled.

I heard him fighting with his jeans.

Normally I would’ve laughed.

Thirty minutes ago I would’ve been watching.

Now I sat there listening.

Jeans hit the floor.

That sound was supposed to mean something.

It still did.

Just not what it meant before.

I had imagined tonight so many times.

Never like this.

Never with his Howard letter sitting beside mine.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

I wiped it away.

Fast.

He didn’t see.

Good.

I still had him.

I still had community college.

I still had the transfer plan.

I still had med school.

I still had everything.

Just…

Not the way I had it this morning.

That was okay.

It had to be.

When I came downstairs, Latonya was doing somebody’s hair.

Still.

I stopped on the last step.

She looked up.

Looked at me.

Looked at my hair.

My hand went straight to it.

She stared at my edges for maybe two seconds.

Then gave me a slow nod.

I breathed out.

Okay.

At least I still had those too.

Latonya“Girl, if you move again I’ma leave the braid crooked.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She stopped.

For maybe three seconds.

Then her phone lit up and her whole head moved with her eyes.

I grabbed her chin.

“No.”

“My bad.”

“Your bad been happening for forty minutes.”

“I’m trying to see who text me.”

“Whoever it is gone still be stupid when I’m done.”

She laughed.

Moved again.

I sighed.

Should’ve charged eighty-five.

Seventy-five was already too cheap.

I knew that.

Everybody told me that.

Then I’d say eighty-five and somebody would look at me like I personally caused inflation.

So seventy-five.

Sometimes seventy.

Sometimes sixty-five because somebody’s check didn’t hit.

Sometimes apparently whatever the fuck people had in their Cash App.

I parted another section.

Clean.

Straight.

I smiled a little.

Couldn’t help that.

A good part did something to me.

Didn’t matter how tired I was.

Didn’t matter that my feet hurt from standing behind that register since ten this morning.

Didn’t matter that I smelled fries every time I moved too fast.

That line was clean.

“Look.”

She tried to turn.

“Don’t turn. Look in the mirror.”

“Oh.”

“See?”

“Damn.”

“Exactly.”

I started the braid.

I’d been doing hair since I was eight.

First time was my cousin.

Looked like shit.

I thought it looked good.

She didn’t.

Cried before we even got outside.

I cried because she cried.

Then I took it down and did it again.

Still looked bad.

Did it again the next weekend.

Better.

By twelve, Mama stopped checking behind me.

By fourteen, girls at school started asking.

By fifteen, they started paying.

That was how I knew.

At least I thought that was how I knew.

Everybody else talked about college like it was some big mystery. Majors. Careers. Changing majors. Taking a year to figure themselves out.

I didn’t need to figure myself out.

Hair.

Cosmetology school.

Shop.

My own chair first, then maybe four.

Five if the space was right.

Nails in the back.

Maybe lashes.

I could rent booths.

Sell products.

I had plans.

Plans cost money.

That was the problem.

“You still saving for school?”

“Trying.”

“How much you got?”

“Enough.”

“Enough for school?”

“Enough for you to mind your business.”

She laughed.

I smiled because she did.

Every time the number started looking good, life reached in my account.

Mama short on the lights.

Kayla needed shoes.

Ciara had a field trip.

Groceries.

Phone bill.

Some shit on the car.

Always something.

I loved them.

That made it harder to be mad.

Didn’t stop me from being mad.

“It’s hard saving helping Mama pay bills,” I said. “Taking care of them girls. I’m tired of being somebody second mama.”

“Girl, I would’ve been moved out.”

“And go where? With what money?”

“Get a roommate.”

“Who?”

She shrugged.

“I know Ricardo been tryna holla at you for months.”

My hands stopped.

“Ricardo ‘El Chapo’ Jones?”

She started laughing so hard I had to hold the braid.

“Stop! You’re gonna fuck this up.”

“Not El Chapo!”

“Girl, yes El Chapo. That nigga move like Ghost with a credit score.”

“You wrong.”

“Am I?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

“But he got money.”

“And how does he get that money?”

She looked at me in the mirror.

I looked at her.

Neither of us said anything.

“Mhm.”

“Well, he bought Keisha that Benz.”

“He what?”

“Bought her that Benz.”

“The white one?”

“Yes.”

I stopped again.

“That’s hers?”

“Yup.”

“Damn.”

“And that’s his Hellcat out front.”

I looked toward the window.

Couldn’t see shit from where I was.

Still looked.

“Everybody know how bad he want him some you,” she said. “I’m just saying, for a lil bit of pussy you could be living the dream.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“I know that’s right.”

I kept braiding.

“But sounds like he wanna make a donation, not a purchase.”

I looked at her through the mirror.

She smiled.

I wanted to laugh.

Didn’t.

“Mm. Maybe if I have no other option.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Latonya!”

“What?”

“You serious?”

“I said maybe.”

“Girl!”

“I’m joking.”

Mostly.

No.

I was joking.

I wasn’t fucking Ricardo.

Didn’t like him.

Didn’t trust him.

Didn’t want to owe a man like that anything.

But I understood the math.

That was the ugly part.

A Benz.

Hellcat.

Whatever cash he had sitting around.

School would’ve been nothing to him.

Probably spend my tuition on shoes.

And I was over here counting tips.

I hated that I could understand why somebody would say yes.

I hated more that I had enough bills to understand it quickly.

“Hold still.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not.”

“I swear.”

“You swearing while moving.”

She laughed again.

I finished the last braid.

Added what I needed.

Fixed the front.

Turned her toward the mirror.

“Done.”

She looked left.

Right.

Touched it.

“Don’t touch yet.”

“Girl, this is cute.”

“I know.”

“You ate.”

“I know.”

She pulled out her phone.

“How much I owe you?”

“Seventy-five.”

Pause.

I knew that pause.

“Can I give you sixty? It’s all I got till tomorrow.”

I looked at her.

She gave me that little sorry face.

Fifteen dollars.

Not worth an argument in the middle of a party.

Still enough for two lunches if I didn’t get anything extra.

Enough gas to get me to work and back a couple days.

Enough for another pack of hair.

Enough that if twenty people did this shit, I was out three hundred dollars.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s cool.”

“Thank you.”

“Just try to have the full payment next time. It’s how I stay in business.”

“Girl, I got you.”

I nodded.

She probably meant it.

That was the annoying part.

People could mean something and still not do it.

I started packing my things.

“And tell your friends.”

“You know I do.”

“I know.”

She got up and immediately took a selfie.

Then another.

Then turned sideways and took another.

I watched her walk away smiling at herself.

That part felt good.

Always did.

Making somebody look in a mirror and like what they saw.

Maybe that was enough.

I hoped it was.

My phone started ringing.

Mama.

I stared at it.

Just long enough to know I didn’t want to answer.

Then I answered.

MahalaThe little boy had been cheating for ten minutes.

Nobody else noticed.

I did.

“That don’t count!”

“It do count!”

“You stepped out!”

“I ain’t step out!”

“You was in the grass!”

“The grass ain’t out!”

“The grass is definitely out,” I said.

All four kids looked up at me.

The smallest one pointed at the sidewalk.

“We said sidewalk out.”

The boy with the football smiled like he’d just won in court.

“See.”

“Y’all rules stupid.”

“They our rules.”

“Then keep playing.”

They did.

Just like that.

Argument over.

I leaned back against the porch rail.

One of them was gonna cry before the night ended.

Probably the little one.

He was playing with older kids and every time somebody scored on him his face got closer to folding.

Still wouldn’t go home though.

I respected it.

That was what I liked about places like this.

Kids everywhere.

Somebody’s mama yelling from a window.

Somebody else’s daddy fixing a car with three men who weren’t helping.

Music coming out the house behind me.

Different music coming from a car down the street.

Everybody in everybody’s business.

Annoying as hell.

I liked it.

The girl beside me had one bent hoop.

Left side.

Just enough that it sat lower than the other one when she tilted her head.

Cute.

She caught me looking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You looking at my earring.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You was.”

“I was looking at your ear.”

“Why?”

“Attached to a pretty face.”

She rolled her eyes.

But she smiled.

Tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek.

She’d been doing that all night.

Every time I got her.

I liked finding people’s little tells.

Made flirting easier.

“So what you doing tomorrow?”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m asking.”

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Come find out.”

She laughed.

I looked back at the kids.

Little one caught the ball.

Dropped it.

Didn’t cry.

Good.

“So that’s a date?” I asked.

“I ain’t say all that.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“I ain’t say yes.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you practice.”

She bumped my shoulder.

I bumped hers back.

“Girl, you got way too much cake to be letting it go to waste.”

I closed my eyes.

Lord.

Not because I needed help.

Just because I was tired.

I looked at the girl.

“Give me one second.”

She laughed.

I turned around.

Dude was smiling like he’d said something new.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. Was hoping maybe you didn’t.”

He laughed.

I turned back to the girl.

“Anyway, what time you—”

A hand grabbed my ass.

I slapped it off so hard my palm stung.

“Aye, watch out with that funny shit, bruh.”

He laughed again.

My voice did that to people.

Always had.

Soft as hell.

High.

Didn’t match shit else about me.

My mama used to say I sounded like Tinker Bell if Tinker Bell got put out of three schools.

“I would hate for sum’n bad to happen to you,” I said. “Now go find sum’n safe to do before I get mad.”

The girl covered her mouth.

Good.

Still had her.

I turned back.

“Like I was saying, I’d love to take you out. Show you a good time.”

“Mahala, you just gone ignore me, girl?”

Apparently.

I looked at him.

“Bro, I don’t date niggas. Ain’t that obvious?”

I pulled my sleeve up.

Rainbow flowers.

Petals breaking away into butterflies farther up my arm.

“Pride, fuck nigga. Gone on.”

“You could be bi.”

“Not for you.”

Somebody behind him laughed.

He heard it.

I watched his face change.

Male pride was a sitcom with too many seasons.

I looked him up and down.

“Temu Eddie Murphy lookin ass boy.”

That got everybody.

Even the girl.

Dude stepped closer.

“You think you funny?”

“I know I’m funny.”

He reached for my wrist.

Didn’t get there.

Somebody caught his arm.

“She asked you to leave her alone.”

I looked over.

Well damn.

Who invited Bel Air after the reboot?

Dark skin.

Loose glasses.

Cardigan.

Collared shirt.

At a party.

White Forces clean though.

Not brand-new clean.

He wore them.

Just took care of them.

Okay.

I respected that.

Dude looked him over.

“Who the fuck is you?”

Bel Air blinked.

Not scared.

He looked like the question itself had irritated him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

I smiled.

Couldn’t help it.

Then Kory came from somewhere behind us.

“She said move around, bro.”

Dude looked at Kory.

That was enough.

Everybody knew Kory.

Not necessarily for good reasons.

Still counted.

Dude backed off.

Said something under his breath.

I didn’t hear it.

Didn’t care.

He left.

I looked back at the girl.

She’d moved away.

Not gone.

Just farther.

Damn.

Moment fucked up.

Bel Air looked at me.

“You okay?”

“I was handling it.”

“I know.”

I looked at him.

He wasn’t staring at my chest.

Wasn’t looking past me at my ass.

Wasn’t puffed up waiting for me to tell him how brave he was.

He just looked concerned.

A little uncomfortable too.

Like he’d stepped into something because he thought he should and now had no clue what came after.

“I just didn’t think he was listening,” he said.

“Hm.”

He adjusted his glasses.

Actually adjusted them.

Who did that?

He started walking away.

“Hey.”

He turned.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

That was it.

He left.

I watched him go.

The little boy screamed behind me.

I turned fast.

He was on the ground.

Knew it.

I walked over.

“What happened?”

“He pushed me!”

“I ain’t push him!”

“You did!”

“I barely touched him!”

I crouched.

“You hurt?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“My knee.”

I looked.

Nothing.

Not even scraped.

“You gone live.”

His lip shook.

“Come here.”

I pulled him in for a second.

He tried to act like he didn’t want the hug while hugging me back.

“All right. That’s enough. You making me look soft.”

He laughed into my shoulder.

“There you go.”

I stood him up.

“Dust yourself off.”

He did.

“You getting back in?”

He nodded.

“Then go.”

He ran right back into the game.

I watched until he caught another pass.

Then turned around.

Bent-hoop girl was watching me.

“What?”

She smiled.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I smiled.

She pressed her tongue into her cheek.

Still had her.

JarretI knew the song.

That surprised me.

Not the song itself. I had heard it before. It would have been nearly impossible not to. What surprised me was that I knew enough of it to recognize what was happening before everyone else reacted.

The opening came through the speakers and the room changed.

Not gradually.

Immediately.

Someone near the kitchen screamed.

A woman on the couch jumped up so quickly that the cup between her knees tipped onto the floor. Nobody cared. Three people who had been arguing stopped arguing without resolving whatever they had been angry about. Someone shouted, “Turn that shit up,” although the music was already loud enough that I could feel the bass in my sternum.

Then everyone started moving.

I didn’t.

I wanted to.

That was the embarrassing part.

I stood near the wall holding a cup I hadn’t drunk from and watched.

There seemed to be rules.

Not formal ones. No one had announced anything. Still, everyone somehow knew when to shout the same line, when to let the recording carry the verse, when the women were supposed to take over, when the men would inevitably ruin it by joining them.

I knew the words.

Most of them.

I could have joined.

I didn’t.

A man beside me did some movement with his shoulders that looked effortless when he did it and would have looked like a medical event if I attempted it.

He noticed me watching.

“You good, bro?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

Then danced away.

I almost laughed.

This was terrifying.

I liked it.

That combination had followed me through most of the evening.

I had grown up around Black people. My father was Black. My mother was Black. Holly was not, but that hardly meant I had been raised in complete isolation.

Still, this felt different.

Nobody here seemed to be checking themselves before they moved.

The laughter was loud.

The music was louder.

People greeted one another with insults I would have interpreted as hostility if they weren’t smiling while saying them.

Two women had spent nearly five minutes arguing about whether another woman’s wig was thirty inches or thirty-two, and I still did not know whether they liked each other.

A man I had never met had looked at my shoes, nodded once, and said, “At least you ain’t completely fucked up.”

I had thanked him.

He laughed for almost a minute.

Apparently that had been the wrong response.

Or the right one.

I still wasn’t sure.

I wanted to know.

That surprised me too.

For years, I had treated my discomfort around other Black people as evidence of something wrong with them.

Not consciously.

I would never have admitted that.

But there had always been an explanation available.

Too loud.

Too vulgar.

Too concerned with clothing.

Too willing to make everything a joke.

My father’s explanations.

I knew that now.

Standing there, I wondered how many opinions I had inherited before I was old enough to understand I was inheriting them.

Someone bumped into me.

“Watch out, bro.”

“Sorry.”

He was already gone.

The woman on the couch had found a towel and was cleaning up her drink while dancing.

I smiled.

Then stopped when I realized I was smiling.

Why?

Because they looked like they were having fun?

Because I wanted to?

Because I had spent years being taught how to enter rooms where I might be the only Black person and had somehow never learned what to do in a room where I wasn’t?

That thought stayed with me longer than I wanted it to.

I went outside.

The air helped.

So did the relative quiet.

There were children playing football near the sidewalk. Mahala was crouched beside one of them, inspecting his knee while he tried very hard not to cry.

I recognized her immediately.

Hard not to.

Earlier, a man had ignored several increasingly clear indications that she wanted him to leave her alone. I had intervened when he reached for her.

I wasn’t sure I had helped.

Kory’s arrival seemed to matter more than mine.

Still, she had thanked me.

That had felt nice.

I watched her hug the boy.

Interesting.

She had threatened a grown man perhaps twenty minutes earlier and was now wiping grass off a child’s pants.

The boy ran away.

Mahala watched him until he rejoined the game.

Then immediately returned to flirting with the woman beside her.

I laughed quietly.

No one heard.

Good.

Farther down the patio, two men were arguing.

“Bro, these look fake.”

I recognized Kory.

Everyone seemed to recognize Kory.

He had crossed the party earlier and touched hands with so many people that I briefly wondered whether I was witnessing some greeting ritual I should know.

Then I realized he simply knew everyone.

Or behaved as though he did.

“My nigga, fake? What? Have I ever hoed you?”

“Yes. And I want my money back for that watch.”

“Fuck outta here. You break it, you bought it.”

“It broke after I bought it.”

“That’s breaking it.”

“No the fuck it ain’t.”

“You want this necklace or not?”

I should have left.

Instead, I leaned against the railing.

“The clasp look cheap.”

“Ashley ain’t inspecting the clasp.”

“She might.”

“You buying her jewelry so you can fuck. If she pull out a magnifying glass, you wasn’t getting none anyway.”

I covered my mouth.

The buyer considered that.

Disturbingly, so did I.

“Three too much.”

“Three is love.”

“Two.”

“Two is disrespectful.”

“Two.”

“Two-fifty.”

“Two and we forget the watch.”

Kory stared at him.

“That watch worked.”

“For three days.”

“Three beautiful days.”

“It turned my wrist green.”

“That’s your PH.”

“What?”

“Body chemistry. Google it.”

I had to look away.

I was going to laugh.

I didn’t want them to know I was listening.

“Two,” the buyer said.

Kory sighed.

“Fine. But don’t come back complaining when Ashley don’t appreciate you.”

They exchanged money.

The man put the necklace in his pocket.

Then stopped.

“And she is going to let me smash with this?”

Kory was already counting the cash.

“Worked for me.”

The man froze.

“What!?”

Kory kept walking.

“Results may vary. Good luck, nigga.”

I stared after him.

There were people like Kory on television.

Usually written by people who had never met anyone like him.

He was funnier than those characters.

Also more concerning.

He appeared to have sold a potentially fake necklace to someone who had already accused him of selling a defective watch, convinced the same person that the jewelry might facilitate sex with a woman Kory himself claimed to have slept with, and somehow left the transaction with the customer only moderately dissatisfied.

I didn’t know whether to admire that.

I suspected I shouldn’t.

I did a little.

Kory counted the money as he walked backward.

He was going to hit me.

I had enough time to move.

I didn’t.

I don’t know why.

Maybe I wanted to see what happened.

He bumped directly into my chest.

“Ayo, Carlton, move.”

“You bumped into me, actually.”

He stopped counting.

Looked up.

Then looked me over.

“Nigga, why you talk like that?”

I frowned.

“What?”

“Why you talk like that?”

“What’s wrong with how I talk?”

He stared at me like I had asked something profound.

“Talking white around here is a bold ass move.”

My stomach tightened.

“White?”

There it was.

The thing I had been worried about all night.

Apparently I hadn’t hidden it particularly well.

“No. My father talks like this.”

Kory’s face changed.

“Father?”

“Yes.”

“Nah, nigga.”

He put the money in his pocket.

“You gone fuck around and get yo ass beat.”

Before I could ask why, he grabbed my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your life.”

“My life?”

“I’m exaggerating. Come on.”

He started pulling me toward the house.

I followed.

Not because he was pulling particularly hard.

Because, against my better judgment, I wanted to know where this was going.

KoryCarlton didn’t know he was Carlton.

That was the problem.

You can be Carlton.

Nothing wrong with Carlton.

Carlton had money.

Carlton had a house.

Carlton probably had a credit score at birth.

But you gotta know when you Carlton.

This nigga walking around here asking what’s wrong with how I talk?

Everything tonight.

Not forever.

Tonight.

Different market.

Know your market.

Rule number one.

Actually, rule number one was get the money first.

Market might’ve been two.

I pulled him into the side room.

He took my hand off his shoulder.

Didn’t slap it.

Didn’t get loud.

Just removed it.

Like a teacher confiscating something.

“What is a mark?”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“You said I look like a mark.”

“You do.”

“What does that mean?”

“You.”

“That’s circular.”

“What?”

“Your definition cannot be the word I’m asking you to define.”

I blinked.

This nigga might not make it.

Mahala came through the doorway.

“Kory, the fuck you doing now? I know you ain’t robbing niggas these days.”

I smiled.

Now this was inventory.

“Mahala, what your fine ass doing here?”

“Bruh.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It is every version of no.”

Fine as hell.

Always.

Didn’t matter what she wore.

Tonight she had on some shit that couldn’t decide if she was taking somebody’s daughter home or fixing somebody’s alternator.

Worked either way.

“It ain’t even a shakedown,” I said. “I’m tryna help this dude not get jacked actually. Walking around looking like a mark.”

Bel Air looked at her.

Then me.

“What is a mark?”

“A target, nigga. Keep up. Them glasses make you look smart, but you ain’t, is you?”

“Well, I got into Yale and Harvard, so…”

Hold on.

“Nigga what?”

His face changed.

“Nothing.”

No.

Can’t return merchandise after purchase.

He said that shit.

“Yale Yale?”

“What other Yale is there?”

“And Harvard?”

“Yes.”

“Like Massachusetts Harvard?”

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck you here?”

Before he could answer, somebody behind Mahala said:

“You got into two Ivies?”

Girl came into the room.

Pretty.

Hair fresh.

Little off though.

Not the hair.

Her.

“Do you tutor?”

Bel Air looked at her.

“Um…sorry, who are you?”

“People call me Bre.”

He offered his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Bre.”

I looked at the hand.

Then him.

Then Bre shaking it.

Who the fuck raised this nigga?

I sniffed.

Mahala looked at me.

“What?”

“Hold on.”

I sniffed again.

Bre looked nervous already.

Couldn’t resist.

“Why it suddenly smell like freshly fucked pussy in here?”

Bre’s mouth fell open.

Mahala smacked my arm.

“Nigga, you have no tact.”

Bre touched her hair.

Quick.

Checked her shirt after.

I started laughing.

“Damn! I was joking!”

“Oh my God.”

“You told on yourself.”

“I hate you.”

“You just met me.”

“I work fast.”

Okay.

Bre had a little something.

Bel Air looked uncomfortable enough for everybody.

“I don’t think we should be discussing her private affairs.”

I stared at him.

“Private affairs?”

Mahala leaned against the wall.

“Leave Bel Air alone. He trying.”

Bel Air.

Better.

He looked at her.

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I would prefer Jarret.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

I pointed.

“Your name Jarret?”

“Yes.”

I considered it.

“Nah.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Don’t fit yet.”

“It’s my name.”

“We’ll circle back.”

Mahala laughed.

Jarret looked between us like he had accidentally walked into a foreign-language class.

Then Latonya came through the door on the phone.

“Okay, Mama. Okay. I hear you. Ciara is sick, but I’m out tonight.”

I shut up.

Not because anybody told me to.

Tone.

You learn tone when you sell shit.

Know when somebody wants the pitch.

Know when they don’t.

Latonya didn’t.

“I know you gotta work. Me too.”

Pause.

“They not my kids, Mama.”

Nobody said anything.

Her jaw tightened.

Then loosened.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pause.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Damn.

She lost.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour. Yes, I can bring food. Okay.”

She hung up.

Looked at her phone.

“Fuck!”

Bre jumped a little.

“I’m so tired of this shit. I need my own place.”

Easy problem.

“Then move.”

Latonya looked at me.

“With what fucking money?”

“Roommates.”

She stared.

Mahala stared.

Bre stared.

Jarret stared.

Everybody staring like I proposed we rob a bank.

Which…

Five people.

No.

Later.

“What?” I said.

“Boy, shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s the problem.”

Bre looked around.

“Actually…”

Thank you.

Customer interest.

I pointed at her.

“See? Freshly Fucked agree.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Bre,” Jarret said.

I looked at him.

“Her name is Bre.”

“You known her nine seconds.”

“She introduced herself.”

“And now you Captain Save-a-Bre?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I looked at Latonya.

“Five people split rent.”

“Five?”

I counted.

“Me. You. Bel Air. Mahala. Freshly—”

“Bre.”

“Bre.”

“Why us?” Mahala asked.

“Cause y’all here.”

She stared.

“That’s your plan?”

“It’s phase one.”

“What’s phase two?”

“Apartment.”

“And phase three?”

“Pay rent.”

Jarret frowned.

“That’s not really a plan.”

“That’s why you here, Harvard.”

“I am not attending Harvard.”

“Even better. Free consultant.”

Latonya rubbed her forehead.

“I can’t afford no expensive apartment.”

“Who said expensive?”

I pointed vaguely toward the neighborhood.

“Projects.”

Mahala shrugged.

“Ain’t shit wrong with the projects.”

Bre looked toward the window.

“How cheap?”

Now we talking.

I didn’t know.

Important detail.

Could’ve admitted that.

Didn’t.

“Cheap.”

“How cheap?”

“Affordable.”

“Kory.”

“Why everybody expect numbers immediately? This brainstorming.”

Jarret sighed.

“I can look.”

He pulled his phone out.

See?

Teamwork.

We didn’t even have a team yet and Harvard already doing paperwork.

“Four-bedroom units,” Mahala said. “They got some over by where my cousin used to stay.”

Latonya looked at her.

“You’d live over there?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. And I still would.”

Mahala looked out toward the kids.

“I like it over there.”

That girl really did.

Could drop Mahala in the middle of a block party with six dollars and she’d have three aunties, two plates and somebody’s baby asleep on her chest by sunset.

Jarret looked up from his phone.

“This is significantly less expensive than I expected.”

I leaned over.

“See.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Didn’t need to.”

“You absolutely needed to.”

“Details.”

“Rent is a fairly significant detail.”

“That’s why we got you.”

He looked at me.

Didn’t answer.

Bre stepped closer to the phone.

“If we split that five ways…”

“Exactly,” I said.

Jarret moved the phone away from me.

“Let her calculate.”

“I was agreeing.”

“You didn’t calculate anything.”

“Leadership don’t gotta do everything.”

Mahala laughed.

Latonya didn’t.

She was thinking.

Could see it.

That was the sale.

Never talk too much when somebody starts selling themselves.

Bre looked up.

“One year.”

Latonya glanced at her.

“What?”

“We only do it for one year.”

She said it again, stronger.

“One year. We split everything. Rent. Utilities. Whatever. Everybody saves.”

She pointed to herself.

“I need a year before I transfer.”

Latonya looked down at her phone.

“I could save a lot not helping with everything at home.”

Mahala nodded.

“I already wanna move.”

Jarret slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“My university is close.”

Everybody looked at me.

I spread my hands.

“What?”

“Why you need to move?” Latonya asked.

Fair question.

Didn’t have a good answer.

Home wasn’t really home.

Couple couches.

Couple girls.

My cousin when he wasn’t mad at me.

Mama when her boyfriend wasn’t there.

I always had somewhere.

Usually.

“I need somewhere to put my shit.”

Mahala laughed.

“Of course that’s your reason.”

“It is a reason.”

Jarret looked at me.

“Where do you live now?”

“Places.”

“What does that mean?”

“It mean I ain’t homeless.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Then ask less questions.”

He went quiet.

Good.

Didn’t like that one.

Latonya counted us.

“Five people.”

Jarret nodded.

“Four bedrooms.”

“Somebody gotta share.”

“No,” Mahala said immediately.

I smiled.

“Why you looking at me?”

“Cause I know you.”

“You don’t know me like that.”

“I know enough.”

Latonya pointed at herself.

“I need my own room. I have clients. I need a space I can do business without disturbing y’all.”

“That’s fair,” Jarret said.

Bre raised her hand a little.

“I gotta be able to study in peace.”

“Also fair.”

Mahala lifted hers.

“I need privacy for my extracurriculars and my shoes.”

I looked at her.

“You doing sports?”

She stared at me.

“What?”

“Extracurriculars.”

“You know what she means,” Bre said.

“I don’t like assuming.”

Mahala smiled.

“Women, Kory.”

“Oh. Then we should share.”

“No.”

“Could save on entertainment.”

“No.”

“Streaming getting expensive.”

“Kory.”

“Okay.”

Jarret was trying not to laugh.

I saw it.

Interesting.

Latonya looked at him.

“What about you?”

“A place for a bed is fine.”

I stared at him.

“That’s it?”

“Preferably a desk.”

“See, this why you can’t share.”

“Why?”

“You’re boring.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

Everybody looked at me.

I already knew my answer.

“I can’t be smashing down shit on bunk beds like this middle school.”

Mahala groaned.

“Then don’t smash.”

“That’s not realistic.”

“For you.”

“Exactly.”

Bre shook her head.

Jarret frowned.

“Why would we need bunk beds?”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“Two beds fit in a bedroom.”

“Not the point.”

“Then why did you specifically mention bunk beds?”

“Cause regular beds don’t sound funny.”

He thought about that.

“Okay.”

I liked him a little.

Didn’t tell him.

Latonya clapped once.

“Rock-paper-scissors.”

Everybody looked at her.

“For what?” Bre asked.

“Rooms. Three winners get their own. Last two share.”

Mahala straightened.

“Wait.”

“Nah,” I said. “She right.”

“You agreeing cause you think you gone win.”

“I know I’m gone win.”

“It’s random,” Jarret said.

“Nothing random when you clutch.”

“It’s literally a game of chance.”

“Spoken like somebody with no clutch gene.”

“I don’t think you understand probability.”

“And I don’t think you understand I will beat your ass in rock-paper-scissors.”

He blinked.

“That sentence doesn’t make sense.”

“Hands up, Harvard.”

We circled.

Rock.

Paper.

Scissors.

Jarret won.

First fucking round.

He looked at his hand.

Then at me.

Little smile.

Tiny.

Still saw it.

“What you smirking at, Urkel? Back up.”

“I won.”

“You won rock-paper-scissors, nigga. Relax.”

“You said you were going to beat me.”

“I ain’t know you was cheating.”

“How could I possibly cheat?”

“Exactly what a cheater would ask.”

Bre laughed.

Good.

She hadn’t been doing enough of that.

Next round.

Bre won.

She actually jumped.

Then looked embarrassed about jumping.

“Fuck y’all. I need to study.”

Nobody had said anything.

Latonya won next.

Which left me.

And Mahala.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

“Don’t,” she said.

“I ain’t say nothing.”

“Your face did.”

We threw.

Rock.

Paper.

Scissors.

Mine.

She stared at her hand.

“Dammit, bro.”

I smiled.

“Don’t act like you not excited. We can share a bed too.”

She looked toward the ceiling.

“I gotta do this for a year?”

“No.”

Jarret said it immediately.

Not laughing.

Not playing.

“I’ll switch.”

Mahala looked at him.

“What?”

“I’ll share with Kory.”

“The fuck?”

Jarret pointed at me.

“It seems most reasonable. His motives are questionable at best. You shouldn’t be in a room with a closed door with this guy.”

Silence.

Then all three girls broke.

Latonya bent over.

Bre covered her mouth.

Mahala grabbed the wall.

I stared at Jarret.

He looked around.

Confused.

Dead-ass confused.

“Questionable motives? Nigga, fuck you.”

“You offered to share her bed.”

“Hospitality.”

Mahala wheezed.

“Kory!”

“What?”

“No.”

“Mostly hospitality.”

Jarret nodded toward her.

“See?”

“See what?”

“She doesn’t believe you either.”

“She don’t know my heart.”

“I know enough,” Mahala said.

“You keep saying that. Hurtful.”

Jarret pushed his glasses up.

“I don’t understand why everyone is laughing.”

Mahala looked at him.

That made her laugh harder.

Then she got herself together enough to point.

“Bel Air.”

“My name is Jarret.”

“I know. Bel Air, you know I can take care of myself, right?”

“Yes.”

“Like if he tried something, I’d handle it.”

“Yes.”

“So you ain’t gotta switch.”

“I know.”

She stopped laughing.

Just a little.

Jarret shrugged.

“I don’t care who I share with. You do. He clearly wants to have sex with you. Why deliberately create that problem?”

I opened my mouth.

Mahala held a finger up.

“Don’t.”

I closed it.

For once.

She looked at Jarret for another second.

Then smiled.

Softer this time.

“Aight, Bel Air.”

He sighed.

“I suspect that isn’t going away.”

“Nope.”

I slapped his shoulder.

“Welcome home, Urkel.”

“We haven’t applied.”

“This nigga.”

Bre laughed again.

Latonya looked at all of us.

“So…”

Room settled.

Not quiet.

Party still going.

Bass through the wall.

Somebody yelling downstairs.

Kids outside.

Life.

But us?

We got quiet.

“Are we actually doing this?” Bre asked.

One year.

Sounded short when she said it.

A year was nothing.

A year was forever.

I didn’t know what I was doing next month.

Didn’t like thinking about next year.

Plans had a way of making promises you couldn’t keep.

But rent split five ways?

That I understood.

Somewhere to keep my clothes.

My shoes.

A door that was mine.

Same place every night if I wanted it.

People knowing where to find me.

That last one sat weird.

Didn’t touch it.

Mahala held her hand out.

“One year.”

Bre put hers on top.

“One year.”

Latonya stared at their hands.

Then added hers.

“One year.”

Jarret added his.

They looked at me.

I looked at the hands.

Corny as hell.

“What?”

“Come on,” Bre said.

“Nah.”

“Kory.”

“I’m agreeing. Why we gotta summon Captain Planet?”

Mahala grabbed my wrist.

“Boy, put your damn hand in.”

I let her.

Five hands.

Didn’t mean nothing.

Cheap rent.

That’s all.

One year.

Get some money.

Figure out the next move.

Plenty of time.

“Just so we clear,” I said, “I’m not cleaning shit.”

“Fuck you, Kory.”

All four.

Same time.

I laughed.

Yeah.

I could sell this.