PAPI ALWAYS TELLS me to never let the streets know when you’re upset. Don’t let any strangers see you cry. Hold your head up and look as if you’re ready to destroy the world if you have to. Even though part of me wishes I was curled up in my bed and crying right now, I gotta hold it in, because this isn’t my hood and I don’t really know where I’m going and I can’t be looking weak out here.
But tears are welling up in my eyes as I walk down Fifth Avenue toward the Atlantic Center Mall. It’s already dark, but the street has a bunch of restaurants where the tables and seats are outside on the sidewalk and I can see right into these people’s glasses of wine and plates of fancy pizza.
I replay the whole night over and over in my head, and how I hated seeing Darius act like that. He was the only black guy up in there, and he was acting like he was on stage. This must be how he is in that all-white school of his. This must be how he thinks he needs to be.
I reach the Atlantic Center Mall, and I feel like I can finally breathe. Now these are my people. I can’t believe how in just a few blocks, it can feel like two different worlds. I walk over to the G train so I can hop on the L back into my part of Brooklyn, and I scroll through Instagram on my phone while I wait on the platform.
I pause on a photo of Warren and realize that I forgot to unfollow him. It’s a close-up of a girl’s lips on his neck. I go straight to his page to see a bunch of recent photos from some outdoor party. Of course there’s a lot of white people around. And that’s when I spot a photo with a black girl sitting on his lap. I look away from my phone, thinking that my eyes must be deceiving me.
“Hold up,” I say out loud, and expand one of the photos. “Oh, hell no!”
I have to zoom in to make sure that the little face I’ve known all my life, the little face I’ve washed in the morning, rubbed Vaseline on in the winter, and watched cry, smile, and laugh out loud is really in that photo, covered in makeup, and not where it’s supposed to be.
“May I speak with you for a minute?” a voice just a few inches from me asks.
I see Darius’s sleek sneakers in front of me and look up. He must’ve followed me all the way over here. A small part of me is happy to see his face.
Still in shock, I hand Darius my phone with the screen opened up to Warren and Layla’s picture.
“Wait, is that Layla?” He quickly gives my phone back to me. “That’s Carrie’s backyard.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “What the fuck.”
“I need to go get her. Now,” I say.
“Okay” is all he says.
Darius hails a cab outside the shopping center. In the cab, I call Layla’s phone. No answer. I call Kayla, no answer. I text both of them. Layla, I’m coming to get you!
I don’t realize that my knee is shaking until Darius puts his hand on it. I quickly push it away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I don’t say anything.
We reach Carrie’s house, and there’s way more people trying to get in now, and the music is louder. I jump out of the cab and push past the people in the doorway.
“Hey!” someone calls out. “She’s back!”
“Zuri, wait!” I hear Darius yell behind me. But I ignore him. If Warren is the sleazy bastard that Darius says he is, then I need him away from my little sister.
Darius stops me as I get into the living room. The place is now jam-packed and smoky. And I spot a few more black people, so this must be a legit party now.
“Let’s check upstairs,” Darius says. He reaches for my hand again, but I don’t take it.
“So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he says.
“I’m fine, really,” I say. “Let’s split up.”
He nods and disappears upstairs.
I wander through the living room, to the kitchen, and out to the backyard, showing everyone that picture of Layla and Warren on IG, and asking around if they’ve seen this girl. Some ignore me, the rest shake their heads. Until someone taps me on the shoulder and tells me to check the bathroom downstairs.
I push back through the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest. The basement stairs are hidden behind a group of kids taking shots. When I get down those stairs, I spot Carrie. “Where is she?” I blurt out.
She motions for me to follow her into a giant, fancy bathroom, and I immediately run to my little sister, who’s hunched over the toilet.
“Layla! What happened to you?”
“Shots of cognac happened to her,” Carrie says.
“What the fuck!” I yell out.
Layla shushes me and laughs.
I check her clothes. She’s wearing a fitted tank top I’ve never seen before and short shorts. She’s still dressed, thank goodness.
“She’s okay, really,” Carrie says.
“She’s thirteen!” I yell at her.
“I’m okay!” Layla yells back.
“You won’t be if Mama and Papi find out about this.”
Layla gets up and sits on the edge of the bathtub. “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to, Zuri.”
“You wanted Warren to be all over you like that? I saw those pictures, Layla!”
She shrugs. “I like him,” she mumbles.
I look over at Carrie. She sighs and says, “Layla, Warren has a bad reputation. So you should be really careful around him.”
“Now you tell her?” I say.
“Hey! I’ve been looking out for her this whole time.”
Layla points to Carrie and blurts out, “I like you!”
“Did he hurt you?” I ask.
“I’m fine!” Layla slurs her words.
“You’re thirteen. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not supposed to be drinking and changing your clothes and kissing boys who are four years older than you!”
“That’s because Mama and Papi don’t let me do anything! You get to have a boyfriend. Janae gets to have a boyfriend. And me and Kayla are supposed to just sit in the house all day? I didn’t need you to come save me, Zuri!”
I sigh and shake my head. “Look. Did Warren take any pictures of you?”
“Yeah. And?”
“Naked pictures of you?”
“No! I wouldn’t let him do that!”
I exhale.
Carrie crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side. “I know what happened to Georgia. I wouldn’t let that happen to your sister.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
I put my arm around my sister and pull her to standing, just as some shouting and yelling make Carrie run out of the bathroom. “Oh god, what now?” she mumbles.
A white boy pokes his head in and shouts, “Fight!”
Layla stumbles up the stairs, and I’m right behind her. People are making their way outside the brownstone and onto the street. I spot two boys on the sidewalk; everyone is trying to move out of their way.
Darius and Warren.
As I get closer to the fight, I see that Darius is lost in a rage. He’s got Warren by the collar. Warren pulls away and gets ready to throw a punch, but Darius ducks and hits him with an uppercut. They both step back and dance around each other. Darius gets hit in the face and stomach, but Warren manages to dodge all of Darius’s empty punches. No one stops them.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I yell out, and just about jump on Darius’s back, trying to pull him away from Warren. I hold him with all my might, and only then does some other black guy pull Warren away.
A few kids help me get Darius back inside the house, because he’s still seething. Carrie brings him a glass of water and a pack of frozen peas for his jaw. She goes back and returns with glasses for me and Layla too.
I touch her hand and say, “Seriously. Thank you.”
She smiles and nods.
All Is Fair in Love and Warren
I don’t need no knights in shining armor
Ain’t no horses in the hood
I killed chivalry myself with a pocketknife
A mean mug and a bad mood.
I don’t need you to fight my battles
’Cause I’ve already won this war
Got brothas hollering at me from the corner
Then curse me out when they get ignored.
But if you step to that brotha
Who disrespected me with his eyes
Pull out your fists and throw an uppercut
Like you’re some superhero in disguise.
I’ll look at you twice, maybe three times or four
Secretly cheer you from the sidelines
As you throw another brotha down on the floor.
You’ve got this whole white audience
Watching this fight like some sport
So to whom do I pledge allegiance
To my heart or to this war?