“May I help you, ladies?” he says with a fake deep voice as he holds the door open while we walk in.
“We have to do some homework,” I say, trying to hide my smile.
We sit down at an empty table, and I avoid talking to Kasim because he’s supposed to be working. Imani removes her coat and unloads her bag, and I take out my essay but keep my coat on. I don’t like how I look in my uniform. Imani starts to tell me how to fix my essay, but my eyes are glued to Kasim. He’s extra friendly to the customers and smiles too much. He whistles while he pours coffee and other hot drinks from a machine. Every few seconds, he turns to me and smiles, or winks, and once, blows a kiss.
Imani kicks me under the table. I snap out of it and try to turn my attention to the essay. “Mr. Nolan said this is not a research paper. I have to put in textual evidence,” I say as if I’ve been listening to her the whole time.
“I can’t believe you brought me here just so you can make googly eyes at your boyfriend,” Imani says. “You didn’t hear a word I said. I just told you the same thing.”
I can’t fool her, so I laugh. She laughs. A white couple next to us shoots us looks, and we cover our mouths and laugh some more. Kasim comes over and places two mugs of hot chocolate on our table. He purposely touches my hand and tiny, sharp things travel all up and down my skin. Imani teases me, we sip on our warm drinks, Kasim keeps finding reasons to come to our table, we giggle some more, and the couple sitting next to us finally moves to another table.
I am like air now. Or a bubble. Delicate. I can pop at any time.
And I do.
When Imani gets up to use the bathroom, I pull out my wallet to pay for the hot chocolates. A card falls out onto the table. I turn it over to see the name Detective Shawna Stevens in bold, black letters. I tap the edge of the card on the table thinking if I should make the first move. She already knows where I go to school, and I’m sure she knows where I live. I glance out the wide window and wonder if she is watching me from some hidden place right now. This Detective Stevens called me a smart cookie, but she’s a whole smart cake. Of course my cousins would not want to tell on Dray because they’ve known him for so long. But me, she knows that I don’t care about that guy, especially if he cheats on my cousin and is mean to her. And most important, she knows that I want nothing more right now than to have my dear manman with me.
I try to be like air again. But thinking of my mother is like a long rope keeping me tied to earth.
THIRTEEN
I LEAVE A twenty-dollar bill on the table for Kasim, but he slides it back to me when he comes to pick up the mugs from our second set of hot chocolates. Imani and I are the only ones left in the café now. They let us stay long after they locked the front door to count the register and clean the machines.
“So you’re gonna actually have to do some research,” Imani continues. “Citing your sources means that you have to show proof of where you got your information. And make it look good. You can’t just go on Wiki.”
“Proof?” I ask. “Everything must have proof?”
“Yeah, and you have to—” Imani starts to say. But a loud thumping seems to make the whole building shake. Music. Heavy. It sounds as if giant speakers are suddenly on the sidewalk directly outside the café. Instead of covering her ears like me, Imani starts bopping her head and swinging her hand in the air. “That’s my shit!” she says.
I watch as Kasim heads for the door, unlocks it, and walks outside to a slow-approaching white car. My stomach sinks. Dray. The tinted passenger-side window rolls down and Kasim leans in. Dray reaches over to give him something. I move in my seat to get a better look, but I still can’t see. Kasim quickly comes back in and waves for us to come out.
“We gotta close up now. Wait for me outside, a’ight?” he says as I brush past him.
Dray turns down the music and comes out of his car wearing dark sunglasses, a black cap, and a gold-cross chain. He checks each of his tires, then pulls out a cloth from the trunk and wipes down the big, shiny silver things along the insides of the tires.
“Those really are twenty-twos,” Imani whispers next to me, making me jump a little.
“Twenty-two what?” I whisper back, keeping my eyes on Dray.
“Twenty-two-inch rims. Hardly any room for the tires. When we were in middle school, he just had some hubcaps.”
“Rims? Hubcaps? Do they cost a lot of money?”
“For a BMW? Hell yeah!” Imani’s eyes are glued to Dray’s car. And he must’ve noticed, because he’s wiping every inch as if he’s making it pretty just for Imani.
“You wanna take a picture?” he says, leaning back on his car and biting his bottom lip.
Imani shakes her head no.