Chapter Five

It takes a lot for me to get out of Storm and drag myself through the garage door. I can’t remember the last time I hurt this badly. I gave as much as I got, but I’m gonna feel every bit of that blow to my back for at least the next couple of days.

I hope Unk isn’t sticking to his usual routine whenever I go out. He doesn’t go to sleep until he knows I’ve made it through the door safely, regardless of the time of night. It’s always been a comfort, but I need him to be asleep tonight. I really don’t feel like explaining why I’m moving so slow, and I know he’s gonna notice and ask questions I don’t want to answer.

I’m dragging so badly that I don’t realize that I’ve bumped the end table by the door, which disturbed the statue of Nyati, the Divine Mother of Kindara. Unk keeps a lot of them around each of the entrances into the house as an otherworldly layer of protection. I’m groaning as I stretch out to keep the figurine from falling to the floor. I secure her back in her space and breathe a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall to steady myself before I move again.

I don’t want that smoke. Nope. If he doesn’t kill me, Nana will have a whole meltdown if she were to find out I broke one.

My phone vibrates in my pocket on a rapid-fire kick, and I ignore it for the time being. It’s probably Dante and Squad rubbing it in about the Langston Hughes score. They’ve been lighting everybody up this year. I’m not trying to hear any of that right now. I have my own issues to sort out.

The great room is dark, which is a good sign that I might get to my room without too much fuss. I stop through the kitchen to grab a bottled water so I can trudge up the stairs as quietly as possible.

My phone is going off for real now, which is irritating me big time. I’m already kicking myself for not getting Zahra’s phone number while we were vibing, so I know it’s not her.

I’m fumbling with my phone to just turn it off or something, so I don’t make myself so freaking obvious that I’m home. The house is already quiet, so any noise is liable to alert Unk that something’s going on and he needs to see about it. He’s already gonna be awake in a few hours to get ready to head out to the boat so we can work on the day’s catch—he owns a seafood shop in downtown Oakwood Grove—so interrupting his sleep is a sitch I don’t want.

Hearing the light switch flip is a dead giveaway that Unk stuck to his normal routine after all. Dammit. “How was the game, kiddo?”

Okay, two options.

First option: come clean and drop everything on the table and be up all night fleshing out the good and the bad of it all.

Second option: hold some cards close to the chest until I can figure out what else I need to tell him later, which will be a shorter convo and I can get some sleep.

Considering everything I’ve gone through in the past few days, and I went to a whole football game after being at school, wanna guess which option I’m about to take?

“The game was lit, no cap.” Well, I’m not lying about that. The football team is pretty nice, for real. “I guess Oakwood might not be so bad, but I’m still not sure yet.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Unk leans against the wall, and I can feel him studying me further, like he’s looking for something. He pauses for what feels like forever before he says, “Are you gonna be good to roll in the morning? You look like you got into the game a bit more than what you’re letting on.”

I grip my ribcage as I flinch over his question about going out on the boat. Playing this chess game in my head is wearing me out more than trying to hide legit injuries I took earlier dealing with Ian and his drama. I can only hope to be sore in the morning so I can roll out and avoid more questions I’m not ready to answer.

So instead of taking the out my uncle is giving me, I tell him, “Yeah, I’ll be ready to go in the morning. You know I can’t leave you out bad like that.”

Unk furrows his brow, and I know he’s not buying it, but I gotta sell it so he can rock with it. I’ll make it up to him another time, but for now, I’m putting on as good of a performance as I can pull off. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him nod. “All right, Ya-Ya, get some sleep. Wheels spin at four in the morning.”

As he walks back to his bedroom and closes the door, I shake my head and wonder how in the world did I get myself into another fine mess. I get to my room, drop my keys on the desk, and groan as I pull my hoodie over my head, leaving a trail of discarded clothing to the bathroom so I can get a nice, hot shower going. It’s been a hell of a first week, and I pray I’ll have as much of a dreamless sleep as humanly possible.

I’m playing out the whole night from start to finish, and I’m already critical of the moves I should’ve made and the ones I was better off not making. I don’t like doing this to myself, but I can’t help it sometimes. Nana’s always said I should never be my own worst enemy, but I don’t see it that way. Still, I’m trying to find the silver lining through all of the doom and gloom I’m insisting on bringing to the surface all over again.

That silver lining is about five foot six and I swear is made of brown sugar, cocoa, honey, and gold.

I just wish I’d at least swapped numbers with her or something.

Okay, Yasir, chill. Focus on the positive. She rocked with you the whole game. The vibe was fire. That’s gotta count for something, you know?

I let the water cascade over me, pretending that it’s washing all the negativity off me and circling down the drain. The heat feels good against my bruises, and I stand in place for a few more minutes until I don’t wince every time I move.

I’m still trying to make sense of what happened with Ian and that whole incident. More to the point, where in the world did that crimson glow come from? I know I was running a little hot, but for it to manifest itself like I was about to catch fire doesn’t make any sense. I felt like I could’ve broken more than Reggie’s jaw. As angry as I was, his jaw would’ve been the least of his problems.

Paralysis was on my mind.

It shouldn’t have been, but he pissed me off.

Since I have a moment to myself to think about it, where did all that seemingly endless supply of energy and strength come from?

And where did it all go like it never happened in the first place?

So many questions to answer, but I’m not about to lose sleep over it tonight. I have to shut things down and be ready to go in a few hours.

I turn off the shower, grabbing the towel off the bathroom counter, stretching across my bed to scroll through the messages I ignored when I was trying to keep Unk from ripping off the third-degree questioning. Sure enough, it’s Dante giving me the updates on the Langston Hughes blowout. I do my best not to get upset, knowing I’m supposed to be up there with my people instead of down here hitting the reset button, but with each picture I see, it gets more difficult to keep from raging.

I decide it’s better to head up to the studio and get some painting done or do some sketching. I’m not in a violent mood, well, not anymore, so going downstairs to work that off isn’t necessarily what’s needed right now. I want to feed into the vibe I felt with Zahra earlier. I think that’ll help ease me into a better headspace so I can sleep.

The top level of Unk’s house is split into two large spaces, one for him and his hobbies, and the other one for me and my creative energy. He had my space designed and crafted in such a way that I can see the stars at night or bask in the warmth of the sun during the day. It’s airy and has a lot of windows, including the skylight.

I keep all my paints, pencils, chalks, everything in separate bins against the wall opposite the large window on the other side of the studio. The skylight shows the clear and starry night sky, and I admire the beauty and darkness being shown before me. An inspiration with a pretty girl at its center takes hold of me.

All the easels are covered except for one, since I have a thing about not wanting to see the pieces as I’m creating them. I move to the bins, take out the pencils, then slide over to the chair in front of the easel with the blank canvas and get to work.

I focus on her face first, capturing the contours of her cheeks, the oval shapes of her eyes, and before I know it, my fingers act on their own. It’s like they have as much of a memory of what she looks like as my subconscious, and I don’t question how my hands move. I sit back and let the magic happen.

I capture the intricacies of her face and hair with a precision that scares me at first. I feel like I’m invading her privacy with the way I pay attention to the perfect shape of her eyebrows or the way she bites her bottom lip when she wants to keep from grinning. Before long, I’ve added a headdress that wraps through her hair, and I imagine her on a beach, wearing a maxi dress, walking barefoot along the edge of the surf.

I’m sketching so fast I feel like the lead is going to break from the pressure and speed.

I just don’t want to lose the image that’s forming in my mind’s eye before I’m finished with the capture.

As I’m putting the finishing touches on the piece, I hear my phone vibrating against the table next to me. I pick up the phone to see what the notification is about.

I almost stop breathing the minute I see the message coming from my IG.

Hi, Yasir, I hope you’re awake. I just wanted to say I had fun tonight.