THE SUN STARTS TO KISS THE LAND AS I WAIT FOR RILEY to pick me up to find Nic. Autumns in Virginia meant more hours of night and less time for visibility, which is why I tried switching shifts at Taco Bell. But Maurice used his large, ashy hands to squash my plans. After work, I’d run home and washed the stank of queso off my skin, then hightailed it to outside of Man Boo’s barbershop for Riley to scoop me up. Not that I’m putting her in a box like Bowie. Riley’s already seen where I lay my head. But there are too many prying eyes at the Ducts. Even tonight, Slim and Quan were perched in their usual positions as I headed to Man Boo. The last thing I need is for Javon to catch wind of where Nic might be and get to her first. I still have hope that he hasn’t caught her scent yet.
I hear a tap on the store window behind me. Man Boo raises both hands, as if asking why I’m not coming in. I smile and shake my head: I’m cool. Man Boo smirks at me and then shuffles toward the shop’s entrance. Should’ve known he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Oh, I get it,” he says, walking up to me on the sidewalk. “You got a little coin in your wallet now because of that new fancy part-time job of yours. Now you got some swanky guy named Federico cutting your hair.” He smiles and he has to have an extra tooth in there or something. Nobody can have that much joy.
“Marco,” I correct. “He usually has a waiting list, but I was able to slip right on in. Taco Bell perk.”
Man Boo laughs as he rubs his hand over his bald head. He no longer has to subject himself to his own haircuts, lucky dog. “We miss seeing you around here, man. How’s your grandma doing? We’re all pulling for her.”
“She’s hanging in there. Should be home soon,” I say. MiMi’s tough. Probably the toughest person I ever met. Still, even the idea of losing Nic is enough to break her. Hell, it almost did. That’s why I’m going to do what it takes to get Nic home and give MiMi the family reunion they show in them Hallmark movies. Even if it means dragging Nic to Riley’s car.
Man Boo blows into his hands and nods. He was in so much of a rush to come out and bust my balls that he forgot to throw a jacket over his smock. “And your mom?” He peers at me over his fingers, keeping his hands up like a shield. Like I was going to lash out and strike him at the mere mention of my mom.
I shrug. “She’s . . . you know.” I shrug again for good measure. Truth is, I don’t know how she’s doing. Never called to give her the deets about MiMi like I was supposed to, but I’m sure MiMi filled her in by now. Every time I pulled out my iPad to email her or whatever, my fingers locked up. Froze. As if they didn’t know what to type. I didn’t know which was worse: drafting a letter to let Mom know how twisted our family had become or seeing that I had a response from her. Even if she sent a sentence or two, I’d read so much more in between the lines—none of which would fully scratch that itch I get when I think about her.
Man Boo nods at me again, eating up everything I was feeding him even though it’s just crumbs. But he’s cool like that. He always knows the fine line between chopping it up and keeping it moving. Too bad his barbering skills aren’t just as on point.
A black Lincoln Continental pulls up to the curb in front of us. Man Boo lets out a whistle and I look down at my shoes. Check my laces in case I have to take off booking. Fancy car like that in a neighborhood like this usually spells trouble. The passenger window rolls down and I bend my knees, prepare for takeoff.
“Hey, Jay!” Riley leans over and pokes her head out the window. “Hop on in.”
I blink. I don’t remember the Palmers rolling in a ride like this to Sunday services.
“Fancy friend to take you to your fancy haircut?” Man Boo asks, raises an eyebrow.
“Something like that.” I slap him a five and slide into the passenger seat. “I’ll tell MiMi you said hello,” I call out through the window.
Man Boo gives me a salute and lets out another whistle as we pull away.
“Seatbelt,” Riley says like a mom in training.
“Yes, ma’am.” I snap my seatbelt into place. Peek into the sideview mirror to make sure Man Boo got back into his shop without any drama. Most folks around here know better, but there’s always some clown from the next town over who thinks they can shake up someone in this neighborhood for some quick cash.
“Who’s your friend?” Riley asks.
My smirk comes out as a laugh. “Friend? It’d be kind of creepy for me to be friends with an old dude.”
Riley lifts one hand into a shrug, keeps the other on the wheel. “I don’t know. You two looked friendly together.”
“He just used to cut my hair, that’s all.” But that doesn’t feel like a hundred percent the truth, especially after saying it aloud. Yeah, he cut my hair until I outgrew his high fades, but he also spotted me a few dollars to sweep up hair or clean his windows. He let me chill out in one of his chairs whenever MiMi’s shift ran a little late and Nic was too distracted with her phone to distract me. If he wasn’t just a barber, but wasn’t a friend, I didn’t know what the hell to call him. So instead, I look around the car. Leather seats. Navigation system. Some kind of clip on the vent that makes the whole car smell like lavender. My knee bumps against the dashboard as I continue my snoop fest.
“My mom usually sits there. She’s way shorter than you. You can adjust the seat if you need to,” Riley explains.
I reach in between my legs and under the seat for some kind of handle. Nothing’s there.
“No. It’s on the side. Just press it toward the back—it’s automatic.”
I find the button on the side of the seat, press it, and, like magic, the seat glides backward. The transition is seamless, like a private jet landing on a runway. Don’t think I’ve ever been in a car as fancy as this. The fanciest, probably, was the back of the hearse escorting my dad to his final resting place, but I’ve always tried to push out that memory.
“We don’t drive this one to church,” Riley explains, almost sheepishly. “We just use it for trips.”
“You have a car specifically for trips?” I ask. “La-di-da. And Reverend Palmer entrusted you with the vacation vehicle for our trek to Richmond?”
“Weeellll,” Riley begins. Okay, that was one too many l’s to not be a little suspicious. “They don’t necessarily think we’re going to Richmond.”
I look at her. “Where do they think we’re going?”
“They might think we’re just going to the bookstore to check out a few more books and stuff for Sunday school. And by we, they mainly think me.” She peeks over at me. “I’m not allowed to have other people in the car.”
I grab my chest. “Riley Palmer. First sneaking out and breaking curfew, now lying to your parents. What’s next? You gonna get a face tattoo?”
Riley shrugs. “I’ve always been a fan of unicorns.”
I laugh at the image. The day I see Riley Palmer with a tattoo is the day you’d see me with a full ride to Harvard. “Unicorns, huh? For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m full of surprises.”
She has a point there. If somebody would’ve asked me even two weeks ago, I would’ve never guessed she’d step foot into my neighborhood after dark—let alone without a can of mace or guard dog. But these past few days have been like a Tootsie Pop. Going through layer after layer without truly getting to the core. Like Riley still has some things she wants to share with me, but I need to put the work in first.
“Whereas with you . . .” she continues, “complete open book.”
I scoff at her. “Lies. I’d like to think I’m dark and mysterious.”
“Just because you think it, Jay, doesn’t mean it’s true.” She holds up a finger and I know she’s about to count off a few things. “One, you always have a book with you, which means you love to read.”
“Sharp detective skills,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“But your books never really have creases in them. Which either means you only carry the books for show, or you treat books like precious things you need to handle with care. I’m going with the latter since it doesn’t seem like you care too much about what people think.”
That last part’s not quite on the nose, but still, I nod, somewhat impressed. “Okay. What else you got?”
“Two.” She continues counting with her fingers. “You wear the same hoodie almost all the time.”
I shrug. “I live in the Ducts. Money’s tight.”
Riley shakes her head. “That’s an excuse. Ms. Murphy makes sure you look sharp. Even if you’re not wearing labels, you have a variety. Which tells me that your hoodie must hold some sentimental value.”
I hold my breath. Damn. She’s good. I run my thumb along the zipper of my hoodie. It gets caught from time to time. I remember having to help Dad get it up to his neck sometimes, when he got too weak to fight with it. Think it took me five months before I let my mom wash it for the first time after he passed. His scent is long gone, but if I close my eyes tight enough when resting my forehead on the crook of my arm, it’s almost like he’s still right here.
“And three . . .”
I almost forget that Riley’s in the car, even though she’s the one driving.
She finally rests her hand back on the steering wheel and gives me another quick glance. “I’m really sorry about you and your girlfriend.”
The back of my head hits the seat. “How’d you know about that?”
“I have my ways,” she says with a one-shoulder shrug.
“Apparently.” I shift in my seat. This big-ass car suddenly seems very cramped. “And she wasn’t really my girlfriend. I mean, she was but she wasn’t.”
Riley gives me a skeptical twist of her mouth and my foot hits her dashboard as I shift again. I take a breath, try to find the right words.
“I think we were together because we both needed something. And sometimes it feels good to be needed.” Okay, that sounded so much better in my head. Still, Riley gives me not one but two nods.
“I get it,” she says. “Still . . . it must feel pretty weird, huh?”
I glance over at Riley. Her tan Converses perfectly offset her caramel complexion, and her ponytail shows just how high her cheekbones are. How long her neck really is.
I finally shrug. “Could be weirder,” I say.
Mr. Boyce wasn’t lying—Kenny’s cousin’s condo is fly as hell. It’s in downtown Richmond, but artsy downtown Richmond. So instead of bumping into blissheads and crinkle clowns, you might be walking side by side with a theater professor with leather elbow patches on his blazer. Only residents of the condo complex get to park in the garage; everyone else has to find parallel parking out on the street. It’s walking distance from a shopping center that has one of those movie theaters with a bar and a bowling alley. Nic wanted to take MiMi to one like that back in Newport News for her birthday, but once we caught wind of how much the food would cost us, we Netflixed and Pizza Hutted instead.
I knock on the door to Kenny’s cousin’s unit, then crack my knuckles while I wait. Riley glances over at me and rests her hand on top of mine.
“It’s okay,” she says. “We’re bringing her home.”
I nod. She’s right. This is it. Over a week with roadblocks and, finally, I get a green light. I look down at Riley’s hand on top of mine still and can’t remember if we’ve touched like this before. Yeah, our hands grazed each other’s when we had to pass out something to the kids at Sunday school, but I always whipped mine away like Riley’s had just come out of the oven. Now, though, her hand doesn’t feel too hot. Just warm and soft.
“Who the hell is it?” a voice booms through the door.
I swallow. This doesn’t sound too inviting. “Jay,” I say. “Jay Murphy,” I add, like that makes any kind of difference.
The door opens and a young dude stands in the doorway. Lighter complexion than Kenny, but close to the same height. He wears a tank top with khaki shorts and socks pulled up to his knees, like one of them wannabe gangstas in some hood movie made in the nineties. But his thick biceps and the grimace on his face make him a little less wannabe and a lot more dangerous.
He glares at me, then at Riley, then back at me. “I ain’t buying shit,” he says.
“Are you Doug?” Riley asks, not even flinching at his menacing appearance.
His glare returns to Riley and my feet move, stand slightly in front of her. Just in case. “Who wants to know?” he asks.
“We’re friends of Kenny,” I say before Riley can get another word out. I really should’ve made her wait in the car. Right next to that swanky shopping center where I’d know she’d be safe.
“Friends of Kenny?” The guy I’m assuming is Doug raises his eyebrows at us. I hear people chuckle in the background. Two separate voices. Could one of them be Nic? “Not sure if Kenny has friends that look like you two.”
“Could you ask him?” I try. “I mean, he’s here, right?”
“I mean, he’s here, right?” This Doug dude tries to imitate me but speaks in a high nasal voice. The hell? Is that how I sound? He turns his head toward the people behind him. The people out of sight. “Yo, y’all should hear this clown out here!” More laughter. If Nic were in there, she’d run to the door if she heard my voice. Then again, she’s been avoiding me all week. She probably wants Doug to get rid of me so she could continue doing whatever she’s been doing these last eight days. I’m not letting her off that easy.
“We’re friends of the family—we know Mr. and Mrs. Boyce,” I say. “They’re worried about Kenny. They knew we were going to be in town so asked if we could stop by and check on him.” I try to peek around him, catch a glimpse of whoever’s tee-hee-hee-ing back there.
Doug shifts his weight to block my view and looks at me through the slits of his eyes, but the cynicism still slips out. We have a stare off. I try not to plead with my eyes too much—all it’s up to you if we come in. No big deal. Doug’s grip on his doorknob gets tighter and tighter. I expect it to close right in my face in about two seconds.
“That was a long ride, though,” Riley adds. “Mind if I come in to pee?”
I wince at Riley’s bluntness. Riley’s eyebrows shrug at me. She’s thinking on her toes to give me an in, even if it means embarrassing herself. Doug gives a half smile—partially amused, partially confused. Whoever’s behind him speak in hushed voices now and my heart skips a beat. One of those voices seems high-pitched enough to be a girl’s. I strain my ear to make out whether or not it’s Nic.
“Make it quick,” Doug finally says, stepping aside. I push past him and make a beeline for his living room, Riley hot on my heels. I stop in my tracks when I see two black dudes around Doug’s age passing a joint between each other. The one with dreads past his shoulders looks up at me and frowns.
“Damn, nigga. Can I help you?” he asks.
His friend across from him breaks out into snickers, teetering like a bird. The same high-pitched voice I heard outside the front door. The one I had thought—no, hoped—was Nic’s. But once again, my hope crashed to the floor. It was just two clowns smoking bliss with a fit of the giggles.
“Uh . . . bathroom?” Riley asks Doug, who closes the front door and locks it behind him. Not just once—he makes sure to use the deadbolt. The click of it sends shock waves throughout my limbs. Something tells me this wasn’t a good idea.
Doug hitches his head toward the back of his condo. “First door to the left.”
Riley nods then gives me a look. Should I search for clues? No. Definitely not a good idea. I scratch the back of my neck. Give a slight shake of my head: No. But Riley must just think I’m itchy because she takes tentative steps toward the back.
“Now what’s this you said about Kenny?” Doug asks me as I try to follow her. He sits on the barstool in front of his kitchen island. His kitchen bleeds right into his living, all open concept like those fancy homes on HGTV. Homeboy even has a curio cabinet across from his stainless-steel fridge, showcasing all types of shot glasses and crystal bottles of brown liquors.
I glance at his countertops, his couches, his shiny wooden floors. Try to spot anything that might hint that a female’s been up in here. That Nic’s been hiding out. But aside from all his bougie fixtures, I only find bongs and rolling papers and a pair of nunchucks. Random. “He split town over a week ago,” I say. “His parents thought maybe he’s been crashing here with you.”
Doug scratches at the stubble on his chin. “If they thought that, why didn’t they just call and ask me?”
I shrug. “Not sure. You know your people better than me.”
“My people, huh?” Doug stands and I notice a huge, black-and-white framed photo of Bruce Lee hanging on the wall behind his head. Guess that would explain the nunchucks. He gives me the same sneer Bruce Lee wears behind him and suddenly I’m the one that really needs to go the bathroom. “So . . . my people is worried about my cousin. But instead of calling and coming by to see me, they send you two doofy motherfuckers—doofy motherfuckers I never laid eyes on in my life—to follow up?”
I swallow down the fear rising from my gut. Riley really needs to hurry up. “Yep,” I squeeze out. “So . . . you haven’t heard from Kenny?”
“Terrence,” Doug calls out, but keeps his eyes decidedly on me, “you heard from Kenny?”
“Naw, man,” the guy with the dreads says. He looks over at his friend. “What about you, Ray?”
“Nope,” the guy who I’m assuming is Ray responds. He takes another hit from the joint and studies me as the smoke seeps out of his nose. “Haven’t seen that nigga since forever ago.”
Doug cocks his head at me and shrugs. “There you have it. Did you get the answers you were looking for?”
I try to crack my knuckles, but my hands are too slippery. I don’t even know when I started sweating. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”
With perfect timing, Riley returns from the back of the condo. She looks at me with her mouth bent downward. She didn’t find anything or anyone. Dammit. Another roadblock. But if I can’t find Nic, I have to make sure I keep Riley.
“Okay, so we’ll let you guys get back to it then,” I say. I reach for Riley’s hand. She blinks at me, startled, then takes it. I lead her toward the front door when Doug steps in our way.
“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “Something’s just not sitting right with me. What did you say your names were again?”
My heart starts pounding in my ears. I think about giving him a fake name, but then I also think about what he might do to us if he found out I gave him a fake name. “Jay and Riley,” I say.
“Jay and Riley?” He shakes his head again. “See, that doesn’t ring a bell to me. Never heard Kenny mention either of you before. Why do you think that is?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I say. I keep gripping onto Riley’s hand as I take a step back away from Doug’s accusatory glare. We bump into someone. I look over my shoulder and both Terrence and Ray stand behind us, shoulders side to side. Almost forming a wall. Shit. This is definitely not good.
“I think I know why that is. I think maybe, just maybe, you two are . . . narcs.” Doug’s hand stretches out to his side and gets dangerously close to his nunchucks. I thought those things were just for show, but his fingers seem to be itching to do damage with them.
“Whoa, chill out, man,” I say, panic rising in my throat. “We’re not narcs. Far from it. We don’t stick our nose in anyone’s business.”
“But you over here looking for Kenny.” He grabs a nunchucks and lets them dangle behind his neck. “I’d say that’s pretty nosy.”
“We’re just worried,” I try again. “He left with my sister and—”
“Oh, now he magically has a sister?” Terrence says, breath hot on my neck.
Okay, this is not going well. At all. My eyes dart around the room, looking for any other kind of exit aside from the front door. I spot a window behind one of the couches. But Doug lives on the fourth floor. A leap out of there is bound to leave us with a few fractured ribs, if not more.
“Jay . . .” Riley says under her breath, enveloping my hand with her free one. She doesn’t need to say anything else. She’s scared, just like me—and I’m the one that dragged her into this mess. What the hell was I thinking?
“Don’t be scared, darling,” Doug says, in a scary-ass tone. “As a matter of fact, let me help you relax. Take a hit.”
Riley blinks at him. “A hit?”
The fact that she even has to ask sends Doug and his friends cackling, and only makes me squeeze her hand tighter. I wish my whole hand could blanket her until whatever this is was over.
“A hit from our joint,” Doug explains. “Ray, puff and pass, bruh.”
Riley sucks in a breath and a noise escapes her. Something tiny and innocent. That’s it. I pull away from her and step to Doug. “That’s enough.”
“Come again?” Doug quirks up an eyebrow.
“She’s not smoking shiz, okay? So let us dip. We’re not bothering y’all.”
Doug shakes his head. “See, that’s where you wrong. You come to my place after dark, tapping on my door like a goddamn narc? That’s not going to fly, homey. Only way you’re stepping foot out of here is if she sucks on this joint.”
“Let me do it,” I say. I demand. The smell of bliss always scratches my throat, and even the thought of tasting it almost sends me into a hacking frenzy—but I’d eat three whole joints if that means Riley walks out of here clearheaded and in one piece.
Doug scoffs at me. “You probably smoke five of these bad boys a day. The fuck out of here.”
Ray and Terrence snicker again and my jaw clenches. It’s one thing to have cops look down on me, but to be pigeonholed by actual blissheads? Smoke trickles out of my ears and I haven’t taken a hit of anything yet.
“It’s okay, Jay,” Riley says in a small voice behind me. “I’ll do it.”
My head snaps back at her. “The hell you will.”
“It’s our only way out of here, right?” She walks up closer to Doug. “Just one puff, right?”
Doug raises his eyebrows at her, amused, then nods his head to Ray. Ray passes Riley the joint but I grab her arm.
“You don’t have to do this,” I hiss to her. “I can’t let you do this.”
She pats my hand before pulling away. “What else are we going to do?” She turns to Ray. “Is this just bliss?”
Ray snickers. “You tell me, little mama.”
Riley nods and takes the joint from his hand. I move to swat it away from her, but Doug steps in my way. She places it to her lips and starts making tiny kissing noises on the tip. Doug and his friends fall out, laughing.
“Nah, sis,” Doug says. “If you want the full effect, you have to inhale deep. Let the smoke get down in the rib cage.”
Riley looks over at me and I mouth no to her. She looks back down at the joint and then does exactly what Doug says—inhales so deep that her whole chest swells.
“Now hold it,” Doug instructs.
Riley’s eyes get wide as she holds her breath. We all watch her on pins and needles, and the seconds drip by. Suddenly, a blast of smoke escapes Riley’s mouth and she starts gagging. Doug and his boys laugh it up again. I push past Doug and pat Riley on her back.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She lets out a few more coughs and rubs her chest. “Is that all?” she asks through her phlegm.
Doug snickers. “Oh, you’ll be feeling it soon enough. I only mess with the Grade A stuff. But if you want to try it again . . .”
“We’re good,” I spit out, pull Riley into the crook of my arm. “So, can we go now, or what?”
Doug looks us over then takes the joint from Riley’s hand. “Your girl got bigger balls than you, homey.” He unlocks his front door and hitches his head out to the corridor. “Don’t bring your punk ass back here.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I pull Riley through the front door, Doug and his crew’s laughter floating above us right along with Riley’s head.