The block sat heavy in the January afternoon, the kind of cold that didn’t bite so much as sink in and stay. The sun hung low enough to throw long shadows across the cracked sidewalk, but it didn’t warm anything. It just made the concrete shine where old oil stains had soaked deep and never left.
Ramon leaned back against the chain-link fence, one shoe hooked behind the other, eyes up the street. The metal pressed cold through his jacket. Across from him, E.J. sat on an overturned orange bucket with the faded Home Depot logo half scratched off. He rolled a bald basketball under the sole of his shoe, slow circles on the pavement, the rubber whispering against concrete.
Down the block, two younger boys hovered near a parked car, shoulders hunched, hands moving quick and practiced.
“110 hit one of Trell’s stash spots,” Ramon said, spitting on the ground to the side of him.
E.J. didn’t stop the ball. “How they know it was 110?”
“They don’t,” Ramon said. He tipped his head back against the fence and squinted up the street. “But the other day when Ant made a drop, he was asking me about Kam lil’ brother.”
E.J. frowned, the ball pausing under his foot. “And? What that zesty ass nigga gotta do with anything? I know they ain’t get hit by no ponk.”
“I’m guessing the spot was in the Eleventh or Tenth Ward if they asking about 110 niggas.”
E.J. rolled the ball again, harder this time. “Unless that’s what they want people to think.”
Ramon glanced over at him. E.J.’s eyes stayed on the ground for a moment before flicking up to check on the guys up the street making a hand to hand with a fiend.
“Ain’t that nigga Boogie in they crew from the Tenth Ward?” E.J. said.
Ramon shrugged, shoulders lifting against the fence and falling back into place. “I guess. I know Junebug was. And that’s Boogie baby mama brother.”
The basketball thumped once when E.J. trapped it. “And they killed that nigga.”
Ramon nodded. Word on the street had been that Boogie had taken that in stride, but he wouldn’t have been the first dude to bide his time for the right time to find a way to get some retribution.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “He got reason to wanna get back at them. But that’s a crazy way to do it. It’s wraps if Ant find out. You know that crazy ass motherfucker be itching to catch a body.”
“Not if he got 110 ready to ride for him,” E.J. said. “How many nigga Trell got behind him? Twenty, thirty?”
“Sound about right,” Ramon said.
“Not enough for no war.”
Ramon’s jaw tightened. He nodded once. “Not at all.”
The street stayed quiet in that New Orleans way. A bus hissed somewhere two blocks over. A radio bled bass from an open window. Someone slammed a door hard enough to rattle glass. The BGs were starting to talk shit between sales, warming up as the day did.
Footsteps dragged up the sidewalk.
Asia came into view from the corner, moving slow and loose, jacket hanging off one shoulder like she’d forgotten it was there. Her hair was matted flat on one side, puffed wild on the other. Her jeans were too thin for the weather, knees dark with dirt.
She stopped in front of Ramon and tipped her head back to look at him. “You got some money?”
Ramon straightened off the fence. “Where you been at?” he asked. “I been looking for you.”
Asia scoffed, sharp and humorless. “For what, nigga? You ain’t never been worried about me before.”
Ramon sucked his teeth and looked past her, down the block. “’Cause my girl wanna help you get off the fucking streets. That’s why.”
Asia laughed, the sound dry and cracked. “Who’s your girl?” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “She got money like that?”
Ramon waved it off with his hand. “She ain’t just gonna put you up somewhere. She gonna get you some help.”
Asia crossed her arms. “Who say I need help?”
E.J. shifted on the bucket. His mouth opened like he might say something, then he thought better of it. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled, thumb moving fast.
Ramon stepped closer. “Just take her fucking number.”
Asia rolled her eyes. “I ain’t got no phone, nigga.”
Ramon ran his hand down his face, fingers catching in the stubble on his jaw. He exhaled slow, then said, “Just go to that community center in Gert Town and ask for Nina.”
Asia stared at him for a second. “If I go,” she said, “you gonna give me some money?”
Ramon reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled ten. He held it out between two fingers.
Asia squinted at it. “What the fuck I’m supposed to do with that?”
Ramon shrugged. “I don’t know. Make it work.”
She snatched the bill and turned, ambling toward the younger guys without even checking if they were watching. One of them glanced up, saw who it was, and looked right through her. The other shifted his weight and turned his back.
Asia paused, looked back at Ramon once, then kept moving, disappearing down the block toward the corner.
E.J. lifted his head from his phone. “You a good dude, bro.”
Ramon didn’t answer. He just watched the empty space where Asia had been, the fence cold at his back.
~~~
The chair hummed beneath Mireya, a low vibration that traveled up through her calves and settled into her knees. She sat with her hands folded loosely in her lap, shoulders relaxed, eyes fixed on her fingers. The polish was still glossy, the color clean and precise, edges sharp lt. The tech held one of her feet now, thumb pressing into the arch, fingers slick with lotion as she worked in practiced circles.
The salon smelled like acetone and sugar scrub, sharp and sweet at the same time. A TV mounted high on the wall played something loud and inconsequential with subtitles running too fast to follow. Dryers whirred. Someone laughed from the back. The sound of clippers rose and fell, mechanical and steady.
Mireya watched the tech’s hands move from toe to toe, careful, exact. Even though she wasn’t paying for it, she kept running the numbers anyway. A couple hundred for the full set, easy. Another chunk for the pedicure. And then the tip. Twenty percent, expected, the kind of expectation that sat heavier than the service itself.
Her phone buzzed in her bag again, though she didn’t reach for it. She already knew what it said because she’d seen it earlier, the notification lighting up the edge of her notebook in class. Four hundred dollars. Trell didn’t ask if she wanted it. He told her to go get her nails done. The message read casual enough, but it wasn’t an offer. It was instruction. Once the class ended, she’d packed up and headed straight here.
The tech shifted, lifting her foot higher to work on the heel. Mireya leaned back a little, letting the chair take more of her weight. The vinyl stuck faintly to the back of her thighs.
A chair scraped beside her.
Someone cleared their throat.
Mireya turned her head and met Cass’s eyes.
Cass sat down, legs extended toward the basin, purse set neatly at her side. She glanced down at Mireya’s feet and tipped her chin toward them. “Decided to splurge a little money on yourself, huh? Hopefully that’s not breaking your little bank account.”
Mireya smiled, just enough. There was amusement in it, real but contained. “Actually,” she said, “Trell’s paying for this.”
Cass laughed, a short bark of it, as another tech stepped up and started adjusting the water for her pedicure. “Well,” she said, settling back, “ain’t you just a regular ol’ kept woman.”
“Something like that,” Mireya said.
Cass leaned her head back against the chair and smirked. “Must be putting that mouth to work.”
Mireya’s smile thinned. “This shit is getting old already.”
Cass turned her head, eyebrows lifting. “Oh yeah?”
Mireya glanced down at her toes as the tech switched tools, the soft buzz vibrating through her foot. “I get you’re mad,” she said, voice even, “but we’re not in the same lane.”
Cass shook her head, a sharp side-to-side movement. “What you think you the queen of the south?”
Mireya looked back at her. “This ain’t what I want to do for the rest of my life,” she said. “It’s a means to an end.”
Cass clicked her tongue. “You better get out now then.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Mireya said. “I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”
Cass laughed again, softer this time but no kinder. “If you knew what you were doing,” she said, “you’d know Trell spent as much time with me as he do you.”
Mireya didn’t answer right away. She felt the pause stretch, felt the weight of it. The tech’s hands slowed just a fraction, attention drifting without meaning to. Another tech down the row glanced over, eyes flicking between them before returning to her own client. Mireya could already picture the story getting retold later, voices lowered, names swapped in and out.
She lifted her head and looked at Cass straight on. “We’re not in competition with each other, Cass,” she said. “You’re not in my fucking league.”
Cass’s mouth curved into a small smile. She nodded once. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll see.”
Mireya didn’t respond. She leaned back in the chair, eyes drifting down to her feet again, watching the tech finish the last careful strokes, the polish catching the light as it set.
~~~
Caine moved through the union with the easy pace that he’d developed on campus, knowing he didn’t have to rush anywhere if it wasn’t football-related. The building stayed loud even in the middle of the day. Chairs scraping. Laughter breaking out near the food court. Music leaking from somebody’s phone, tinny and distorted. He bit into the apple in his hand, the skin snapping clean between his teeth, juice running down toward his knuckles. He chewed slow, eyes moving more than his head, tracking bodies, exits, the way people grouped and ungrouped around the tables.
January sat heavy inside the building. Jackets draped over chairs. Hoodies pulled tight even indoors.
“Caine.”
He kept walking for half a step before the sound registered. Then he turned.
Keanon sat at one of the round tables near the windows, long legs stretched out, chair tipped back just enough to look lazy. Jaylen was across from him, elbows on the table, phone face down between his forearms. A third guy sat with them, shoulders squared, posture a little stiffer than the other two. New.
Keanon lifted his hand and waved him over, grin already forming.
Caine adjusted his grip on the apple and crossed the space between tables. Jaylen pointed across the tabletop as Caine stopped.
“Matt, Caine,” Jaylen said. “Caine, Matt. New guy just transferred from Washington.”
Caine wiped his fingers against his palm, brushed the apple juice off his skin, then reached out. He dapped Matt up. “What’s good, bro?”
Matt nodded. “Just trying to get used to being in the boonies.”
Caine laughed, short and real. “I don’t think you can get used to it.”
Keanon leaned forward, pointing his thumb toward Matt. “My guy’s a quarterback,” he said. “He said he coming take your job.”
Caine sucked his teeth and shook his head once. “Why you starting shit?”
Matt lifted both hands, palms out, already smiling. “That’s the same thing I said,” he replied. “I knew the deal when Aplin talked to me the first time.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to Caine. “Just make sure you hit that portal next year and we straight.”
Caine laughed again, louder this time, biting off another piece of apple. He chewed, swallowed, then looked back at Matt. “Check back with me in November.”
Jaylen snorted. “That’s what your ass was saying last year and you fucking lost me a grip of money staying here.”
“Yeah,” Caine said. “Ain’t nobody told you to bet on that. Gambling’s bad motherfucker.”
Jaylen waved his hand like he was brushing the comment aside. “We gotta take him out to the bars and let him find a bitch or two to make him feel welcomed.”
Matt shook his head immediately. “I hope y’all not trying to have me at no hoedowns, boot scooting and all that.”
Keanon’s grin widened. “That’s exactly what they gonna have you at,” he said. “That’s all they got out here. You gotta go to Savannah if you want anything close to a real club.”
Matt looked from Keanon to Jaylen, then back to Caine. “You be going out to this shit?”
Caine nodded. “They let us drink so it works on some shit. Now that, you get used to.” He took another bite of the apple and shrugged. “Just make sure you alright with hearing a lot of country and white boys yelling.”
Matt waved it off. “That’s just like Seattle without the country.”
Jaylen laughed and dragged an empty chair back with his foot, the legs screeching against the floor. He pointed at it. “Sit down, bruh. You killing me with that apple over my head.” He leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “I’m trying to get the scoop on what life like at a P4 school before I transfer to Georgia next year.”
Caine dropped into the chair, spreading his knees slightly to make room, apple still in his hand. He looked at Jaylen. “You gotta play to transfer to Georgia, my guy.”
Jaylen didn’t hesitate. “Fuck you.”
Keanon and Matt both burst out laughing at the same time, the sound jumping over the table as Jaylen shook his head, smiling despite himself.
~~~
Laney stood at the counter t, knife moving in a steady rhythm against the cutting board. Carrots first. Then bell peppers. She lined the pieces up neatly before sliding them aside and reaching for the next pile. The kitchen smelled green and clean, sharp from onion skins and damp celery. A stack of empty Ziploc bags sat to her right, already labeled in black marker with days of the week.
From the living room came the thump and scrape of furniture shifting, the boys’ voices rising and falling over whatever game had their attention. Something electronic chimed. Someone yelled about cheating. Laney didn’t turn around. She just adjusted her grip and kept cutting.
Tommy wasn’t home. She didn’t think about where he was. That was just registered as space. Welcomed space.
A quick set of knocks hit the side door. Before Laney could answer, the door swung open and cold January air rushed in.
Rylee stepped inside, pushing the door shut behind her with her foot. She wore a hoodie too thin for the weather, sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her hair was loose, falling forward as she leaned back against the counter beside Laney.
Laney glanced over. “You alright?”
Rylee crossed her arms over her chest, shoulders lifting. “Can I talk to you about somethin’?”
Laney snorted without looking up. “You bet not tell me you pregnant.”
Rylee rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not fuckin’ pregnant.”
Laney stopped cutting long enough to point the knife toward the living room. “Can you not cuss in front of them?” she said. “They already destined to talk like they grew up in barns. We ain’t gotta rush up into it.”
Rylee didn’t answer that. She shifted her weight and stared down at the counter for a beat before asking, “How you’d know when you were ready to settle down?”
Laney let out a short laugh. “You lookin’ to get married all of a sudden?”
Rylee dropped her arms from her chest. Her hands fell to her sides, fingers flexing once. “No,” she said. “I’m bein’ serious. You know I ain’t had but one lil’ boyfriend in my life. The single girl life gettin’ borin’.”
Laney slid the cut vegetables into one of the bags and sealed it with a practiced press. She reached for another onion. “You in a whole different situation than I was, Rylee Jo,” she said. “I ain’t want to but it was the right thing to do at the time. You in college. Just enjoy that.”
Rylee’s mouth pulled to one side. “But what if I ain’t?”
Laney tipped the cutting board and let the vegetables fall into another bag. The plastic crinkled loud in the quiet between words. “You askin’ this ’cause they got some boy you want to make things official with?”
Rylee nodded, then shook her head, then shrugged all in the same breath. “Somethin’ like that.”
Laney finally looked at her. One eyebrow lifted just slightly. “Who?”
Rylee didn’t hesitate long enough to be convincing. “A guy in my calc class named Brice.”
Laney held her gaze for a second longer than the question required. She knew that tone. The one that settled into Rylee’s voice when she was lying. A tone that she’d had with Laney many times growing up. She didn’t call it out. She just turned back to the counter and picked up the knife again.
“Just tell him what you feelin’,” she said.
Rylee wrinkled her nose. “He’s kinda a dick.”
Laney laughed, the sound quick and tired. “You couldn’t find some sweet guy who brings you flowers or somethin’?”
“Gross,” Rylee said immediately.
Laney shook her head and went back to chopping, knife hitting the board in even taps. “My two cents is to just keep enjoyin’ bein’ young and single,” she said. “Relationships a headache that can wait.”
Rylee watched her for a moment, eyes following the movement of the blade, the way Laney’s hands never slipped. Then she nodded and leaned fully against the island, elbows tucked under her, chin resting on her forearms while Laney kept chopping.
~~~
The bar was loud and packed. Even during timeouts, even when the ball wasn’t moving, the noise just shifted instead of stopping. Glass clinked behind the counter. A blender roared somewhere down the bar, chewing ice to dust. Somebody laughed too hard at a joke that hadn’t landed, the sound cutting sharp before dissolving back into the room.
Tommy sat with his forearms resting against the bar, shoulders loose, eyes fixed on the TV mounted above the liquor shelves. A college basketball game filled the screen, jerseys streaking up and down the court in quick, restless bursts. The score crawled along at the bottom, numbers ticking forward one possession at a time. He lifted his beer and took a slow sip, cold biting against his lip, foam sticking for a second before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Blake sat a half stool closer than he needed to, knees angled out, one boot hooked around the rung. He watched the game too, but not the same way. His eyes slid off the screen more than they stayed on it, drifting instead to Tommy’s face, his hands, the empty space between them.
Another sip. A whistle on the TV. Someone at the far end of the bar slapped the counter in frustration.
Blake leaned in, close enough that his shoulder brushed Tommy’s arm. “When you gonna tell Laney to get the fuck out of the house?”
Tommy didn’t look at him. He swallowed and set his beer down, eyes still on the screen as a player missed an open three. “When did I say that’s what I was going to do?”
Blake scoffed, a short breath through his nose. “Why wouldn’t you kick a cheating bitch out of your house?”
Tommy shifted his weight, the stool creaking faintly. He finally turned his head a few degrees, just enough to acknowledge Blake. “That’s the mother of my children.”
Blake’s mouth curled, the expression already halfway to a smile. “Can’t be too sure about that apparently.”
Tommy turned then. Enough that his eyes landed on Blake’s face. “I’m sure.”
The game noise swelled and dropped again. Sneakers squealed. The announcer’s voice rose into excitement and then fell flat when the shot didn’t go in. Blake took a drink, longer this time, then set his beer down with a soft thud.
“I’m just saying I don’t understand what you waiting for,” Blake said. “You already know she’s doing it.”
Tommy picked his beer back up and rolled it slightly against the bar, watching the condensation gather and slide. “She’s going to fuck up,” he said. “Just like the last time. And just like the last time, I’ll get her back in line when she does.”
Blake paused mid-motion. He lifted his beer again, took a long pull, draining close to a third of it in one go. He wiped his mouth with his thumb and glanced sideways at Tommy. “What’s that mean? Get her back in line?”
Tommy snorted, the sound brief and humorless. He leaned back slightly, shoulders settling against the bar’s edge. “You met her daddy,” he said. “How you think that conversation go?”
Blake laughed, low and disbelieving. “You sure about that?” His eyes flicked down the bar, then back. “That hot piece of ass Rylee ain’t slowing down because her daddy said so. I’d love to see if she sucks dick as good as I heard she does.”
Tommy turned fully toward him this time. His expression didn’t change much, but the movement itself was enough. “Seriously?”
Blake shrugged, unbothered. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t. She’s Laney before y’all got married.” He smirked, leaning back on his stool. “You can go relive all them stories you missed out on with Laney.”
Tommy shook his head and took another sip of his beer, longer than the others. He set it down carefully, fingers staying wrapped around the glass a beat before letting go. “I got Laney under control,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Blake tilted his head, studying him. The TV flared bright behind them as someone dunked, the crowd noise surging through the speakers. He lifted his beer again, the motion easy, practiced. “If you say so, man.”
~~~
Caine sat on the floor with his back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, laptop balanced on his thighs. The glow from the screen lit the room in pale blues and greens, cutting through the dimness of the apartment. Music played low from a speaker near the TV, steady enough to fill the space. He let it run while he watched the footage, eyes locked in, fingers hovering over the trackpad. The song bled into the background, more rhythm than melody, something to keep the silence from pressing in too hard.
He paused the clip. Rewound it five seconds. Let it play again.
The player on the screen moved faster than he remembered. Or maybe he was seeing it differently now. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, rewinding again. His jaw tightened just a little as he watched the play break down, the pocket collapsing. He scrubbed back and forth, stopping at the same moment twice more, studying his own footwork, the angle of his shoulders, where he hesitated instead of stepping up. He noticed things he hadn’t noticed before. A half step too wide. A beat too long with the ball. Small things that didn’t look like much until they stacked on top of each other.
He let the clip run past the point he’d meant to stop it, watched himself recover late, watched the defense close in. His thumb hovered, then clicked pause again. The still frame sat there, frozen, the noise of the crowd trapped behind the image.
A knock sounded at the door.
Caine’s head lifted. He reached for his phone and checked the time. Just past eleven. He stared at the screen for half a second longer, then set the laptop aside and pushed himself up off the floor.
He crossed the living room and stopped at the door, leaning in to look through the peephole.
Laney stood on the other side.
She wore a loose t-shirt that hung soft over her shoulders, pajama pants sitting low on her hips, and a pair of slippers that looked like she’d stepped into them without thinking. Her hair was pulled back, not neat, not messy either. Just done enough to be out of the way.
Caine unlocked the door and opened it.
She stepped inside without hesitation. “I got like an hour.”
He blinked once, then raised an eyebrow. “Hold on. What now?”
Laney was already moving past him, heading down the short hallway toward the bedroom. “Jesse got a flat tire at his girlfriend’s house and called me to come pick him up.”
Caine shut the door and followed, amusement pulling at his mouth. “And you ain’t gonna go pick him up?”
She shook her head as she walked. “I will. In an hour.”
The bedroom light came on, spilling warm light across the doorway. Laney crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, hands braced on either side of her, feet planted. Caine stopped in front of her and reached out, tilting her chin up with two fingers. He leaned down and kissed her, slow and unhurried.
“You getting a little bold, huh?” he murmured against her mouth.
She smiled when he pulled back. “Somethin’ like that. It’s better this way.”
“Yeah?” He stayed close, one hand resting at her jaw.
She nodded, the playfulness evident in her eyes. “I been a fuckin’ faucet ever since I decided I was comin’ over.”
Caine let out a quiet laugh and shifted his weight forward. He guided her back gently, one hand at her shoulder, the other at her hip, easing her down onto the bed. She went willingly, settling against the mattress, hair fanning out against the pillow. He hovered over her for a moment, watching her expression, then lowered himself just enough that his forearm rested beside her.
“How much time we got?” he asked.
Laney reached for her phone and checked it, the screen lighting her face for a second. “Fifty-five minutes.”
Caine smiled. “Might need to tell your brother you gonna be late.”
He slid his hand down to her waist and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pajama pants, pulling them down.
~~~
The night air pressed close, heavy even in January, the kind that still clung to skin and made clothes feel heavier than they should. Trell stood with one shoulder angled toward the street, the other turned in toward Mireya, body already positioned to take up space, to block her line of sight without fully cornering her. Dez’s car idled beside them, exhaust ticking softly as it cooled and heated in uneven pulses. The headlights were off, leaving the driveway lit only by a porch light down the block and the faint spill from a neighboring window.
Inside the car, Dez sat slouched in the driver’s seat, both eyes swollen, the bruising spread wide beneath them. A gash split the skin over his right eyebrow, crusted and red at the edges. He stared down at his phone, thumb moving in short, sharp motions, not looking up, not pretending to be part of what was happening outside.
Trell reached for Mireya and set his hand around her neck. Not squeezing. His fingers wrapped the way they would if he were about to, thumb pressing lightly beneath her jaw, palm firm against her throat. It was close enough to make the intention clear. Close enough that she felt her pulse jump before she smoothed it back down. He leaned in and kissed her, mouth brushing hers before he pulled back just enough to speak.
“Tomorrow after you get off from work,” he said, voice low and easy, “come to the house on the West Bank.”
Mireya didn’t answer right away. Her shoulders stayed loose, posture still, but the thought of another late night stacked on top of class and work and Camila made her chest tighten. The routine pressed in on her all at once. Despite that, she nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
Trell smiled, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”
He reached behind her and opened the back door, the hinge creaking slightly as it swung wide. He took her hand, fingers closing around hers, guiding her forward. She stepped into the car, the seat cool against the backs of her legs, vinyl stiff from the cold. He waited until she was settled before closing the door. The sound was solid. Final.
Trell walked up to the front passenger window and hit it twice with his knuckles.
Dez looked up then. He rolled the window down halfway, the glass stopping with a dull click.
“Come back here after,” Trell said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I need you to take something to Ant.”
Dez nodded once, sharp and obedient. He rolled the window back up and dropped his eyes again as Trell stepped away, already turning his attention elsewhere, already done.
Mireya leaned her head back against the seat as the car eased into motion. The headrest pressed against her neck. Dez backed out of the driveway, tires crunching softly over gravel, the car angling toward the street. The neighborhood slid past in dim slices of porch light and shadow, trash cans lined up too close to the curb.
They hadn’t even reached the first stop sign when Dez looked up into the rearview mirror.
“You think about what I said to you the other day?” he asked.
Mireya let out a long breath through her nose and stared up at the ceiling. “No,” she said. “Because it was fucking stupid the first time you said it.”
Dez’s jaw worked. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
Mireya lifted her head and looked forward, eyes on the road ahead of them. “No one asked you to do that, Dez. I don’t need anyone keeping me safe.”
He swallowed and tightened his grip on the wheel. “So, you like getting passed around a gang of niggas?”
Mireya laughed, sharp and humorless. “When did you have this change of heart?” she asked. “You’re talking like you passed on your chance to fuck. Any of the times you had a chance.”
Dez sucked his teeth. “That was different.”
“Why,” she shot back, “because now you think I need to be saved from something?” Her mouth curled into a grin that didn’t touch her eyes. “I’m glad you think I’m that good. I’m gonna put that on my fucking Yelp reviews.”
“You ain’t gotta be a bitch about it,” Dez said, voice tight. “I can provide for you too, so you ain’t gotta do none of this and can just go to school.”
“No,” Mireya said. “You can’t.”
“I ca—”
She cut him off without looking at him. “I don’t need to be fucking saved. Just shut the fuck up and drive before I fucking call Trell.”
Dez pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, eyes fixed straight ahead. The car rolled through the stop sign and kept going.
Mireya leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.
