“Wait . . . wait!” Bowie shouts. He removes his hand and there’s a little blood trickling down from his nose. “You didn’t even let me finish, Meek. We got you. Jay . . . did you save his paper in the cloud?”
I keep my eyes on Meek. Ready to stick and move in case he tries anything funny. Or at least attempt to. “Yeah.”
“Perfect. Meek, your English class is after lunch, right?”
Meek grits his teeth as he glares at both of us, then gives a curt nod.
“Cool. I’ll hit up the library during lunch. Print out your paper. Boom, bop, bip, everyone’s happy. Right?” Bowie looks at me.
“Right,” I say. I study Meek’s hands. Wait to see if he’s ready to use them as weapons again.
“Right?” Bowie asks again, this time to Meek.
Meek huffs through his nose and loosens his fists. So do I. “Right . . . but I know where to find you clowns if you try any funny shit.”
“We’ll be as unfunny as possible, Meek. Promise,” Bowie says.
Meek sucks his teeth at us then storms down the hall. I feel bad for anyone who accidentally gets in his way.
I wait until the coast is clear then pat Bowie on the back again. “You sure you good? Want me to walk you to the clinic?”
“I’m fine.” Bowie shrugs me off him. “Though we wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d just answer my fickin’ texts. But . . . I get it.” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand then peeks at me. “I heard Nicole took off.”
I frown at Bowie, the words stuck in my mouth.
“People talk, Jay,” Bowie explains. “My only question is, why haven’t you? I thought we were . . . you know. I mean, we’re business partners, but we’re friends first, right?” He has so much sincerity in that question that it makes my teeth hurt. That’s because Bowie’s too saccharine—not all bitter like me. Yeah, he’d get my saltiness if I’d let him in enough to know the ins and outs of the Ducts. But if he tastes too much he might spit me out—like those frat guys and Joshua Kim and even Officer Miles Hunter.
“I’m handling it,” I tell Bowie. “Just like I would’ve handled this situation with Meek.”
Bowie scoffs at me. “Yeah. I could see that while he was straddling you on the floor.”
“That was a misunderstanding. I was going to mention the library as soon as he got everything out of his system.” Lies. I wasn’t even thinking about the damn cloud. I had forgotten that Bowie showed me how to save stuff up there as a backup. My head was too caught in the clouds to come up with a rational solution like that. Bowie saved my ass, but I couldn’t let him know that or he’d try to do it again. I point to his nose. “You should get that cleaned up before teachers ask questions.”
Bowie touches his nose again then winces. “Yeah. Sure.” He looks at me one last time. Waiting to see if I’ll sing a different tune. But not another note escapes my mouth. Bowie sighs and heads to one of the bathrooms.
I scrub my head in frustration just as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, see a message from Riley:
I have an idea . . .
Eleven
RILEY WASN’T JUST SHOOTING THE BREEZE. SHE DID HAVE an idea and it’s a good one. So good that I want to kick myself because I didn’t think of it myself. As soon as school ends, I book it to Heritage Trace Apartments. Wait in front of the sign as Riley’s Uber pulls up. She and the driver share a quick laugh before she climbs out of the car. The driver waves a hardy goodbye at Riley before driving off.
I raise an eyebrow at Riley as she walks over to me. “Make a new best friend?” I ask.
“Who, Keisha?” Riley points at the car driving down the street. “She’s nice. About to graduate from Hampton University at the end of the year. Plans to continue her studies in psychology. I think I’ll request her again.”
“And you got all of that from a ten-minute car ride?”
Riley shrugs. “It’s amazing what people will tell you if you ask the right questions. Speaking of which . . .” She hitches her head toward the apartment complex. “You ready to do this?”
“Either way, I guess we’re doing it,” I say. We tread our way toward one of the apartment buildings. The one that Kenny’s folks live in. They moved out of the Ducts a little less than a year ago. Even though they moved only a few lights away, I’m sure they figured that any distance away from Javon was good. Didn’t matter. Kenny stayed as much in the hood as before. We reach their front door and I lift my hand to knock, but then pause.
“What’s wrong?” Riley asks.
I drop my hand to my side. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.” Lately, whenever I opened my mouth to try to help Nic at all, my words come out all sideways and I just hit another wall. I’m not sure if I can take another dead end.
“It’s okay,” Riley says. “Follow my lead.”
Before I can even ask her what she means, Riley knocks on the door. I hold in my breath. Part of me hoping someone answers, but the other part hoping that nobody’s home. At least with the latter, I can avoid more disappointment.
“I don’t think anyone’s home,” I say to Riley, just as the door cracks open.
“Yeah,” a gruff voice says on the other side.
“Hello? We’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Boyce,” Riley says, taking a step forward to peer through the door. I grab her arm and nudge her back. Curiosity is a great trait to have, but not necessarily in this neck of the woods. Pry too much and you just might get popped.
“Who’s looking for them?” the voice asks. He punctuates it with a cough that chokes up something I don’t want to see.
“Jay and Riley,” Riley says. “We’re friends of Kenny. Kenny borrowed something from Jay and Jay was hoping to get it back.”
I look over at Riley. She gives me a sideways glance. Not bad . . . but let’s see how far this gets us.
The door pulls open farther and Mr. Boyce stands in front of us, looking like a shorter, more crinkled version of Kenny. Like Kenny got folded into origami and they tried to undo the work but ended up with Mr. Boyce. “Look now. Kenny don’t have anything here that you’re probably looking for. I made sure of it, you feel me?”
Riley blinks, perplexed, but I dig everything Mr. Boyce is tossing. He thinks Riley and I are here looking for drugs. All this time I’ve spent shooing away blissheads, I never thought I’d be mistaken for one myself.
“Jay?” Mrs. Boyce peeks out the front door, tightening the waistband of a house robe around her. “That you? Goodness gracious you grew up.”
“Um, thank you, ma’am?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but what does one say when someone mentions you going through puberty? Not the typical conversation piece.
Mrs. Boyce taps her husband on the arm. “That’s Ms. Murphy’s grandbaby. They’re not here for any shenanigans. Let them on in.”
Mr. Boyce doesn’t hesitate. He steps back and waves a hand, motions for me and Riley to enter. It’s obvious who runs the show in this household. Mr. Boyce flashes me a quick grin like he suddenly remembers my face. The smile lasts only a second, but still sticks with me. However Kenny got that knee injury, I can’t imagine it being from his dad. Mr. Boyce seems warm. The kind of dad that scolds you in front of your mom, but sneaks you your favorite snack later.