by Lamar Giles
“Mister Westing will bring me and Kiera to the restaurant, where you’ll be waiting. We’ll order an appetizer. I’ll eat my portion quickly, then excuse myself to the bathroom, but really I’ll step outside while you continue to chat her up. Eventually, she’ll start to wonder where I am, at which point”—he snatched that clamshell phone of his from his pocket for review—“sorry, how’s this part supposed to work?”
I kept it cool, didn’t let any annoyance slip into my voice. “I’m going to send you a text when she gets antsy. That’s when you text her, and say . . . ?”
“Right. My text will say I was feeling sick and I got my mother to pick me up.”
“And?” This part was important.
“I’ll mention that I didn’t want to interrupt you two because it looked like you were having a good time.”
I snapped my fingers. “Perfect.”
It was plausible. Didn’t put Kiera in a position where she felt she had to leave for Jameer’s sake, and didn’t get into a creepy setup vibe because we were still in a loud public place. We could talk about Purity Pledge, sure, but that wouldn’t take all night. Who knew what direction things took after that?
“How are you getting home, by the way?” I asked.
Jameer said, “A friend.”
I didn’t know Jameer had other friends besides me and Kiera. But, okay. If he was good, I was good. Until . . .
We reached his house, and I thought about his doorless, mirrorless room.
I came close to asking more about it. Probing to make sure he was, indeed, good.
We were in such a solid place with the Kiera plan, though. Best not to spoil the vibe. I dropped him off, went home, and fell into my first good night of sleep that week.
In the morning, sunlight peeked around the edges of my closed blinds, waking me moments before my alarm would’ve went off. I didn’t mind. Tonight was the night, me and Kiera. Wonder if I could convince her to take an after-dinner drive with me. I opened my blinds to look at this new day full of all the possibility in the world and found my driveway parking spot empty.
My car was gone.
“Mom!” I shot down the stairs barefoot, tugging a sweatshirt over my head, holding car keys that would do me absolutely no good. “Dad!”
Groggy at the top of the stairs, pulling the flaps of her robe closed, Mom said, “Del, what on earth?”
Dad, in a T-shirt and boxers, pressed up to Mom’s back. “Junior?”
“Call the cops,” I said, working my foot into my other shoe, “someone stole my car.”
I reached for the knob, unsure what I planned to do when I got outside. Check the driveway for skid marks, fibers, and DNA?
Dad trotted down the stairs, grabbing my arm before I jetted into the cold morning. “Calm down, son. No one stole the car.”
“What do you mean? I parked it last night and it’s missing. Look.”
Mom descended the stairs, groaning, massaging the small of her back. She removed her cell from her robe pocket, tapped the screen. “I’m texting Cressie now.”
“Why are you texting Cressie? What’s she got to do with—”
No. No. Nonononononono.
Dad said, “She came home late last night. You were knocked out, so we didn’t bother to wake you.”
“But you let her take my car?”
Mom huffed. “That car’s for both of you. Last time I checked, you weren’t exactly honoring your part of our driving agreement.”
“Where is she now?”
Mom’s phone buzzed, and she read the incoming text. “‘At Waffle House. Be home later.’”
“How am I supposed to get to school?”
Mom, ice cold, said, “The bus still stops at the corner. I’m having coffee. Anyone else want some?”
Chapter 15
QWAN CAUGHT UP TO ME in school, and risked his life by asking, “How was the bus?”
“Rolling purgatory. How the hell did you get here?” I’d been cranky when I texted him the bad news about my thieving sister this morning. Suspicious when he responded with a calm “ok, see you in class.”
“Angie’s van. It’s all hers, D. Her uncle gave it to her because it’s like half-a-deathtrap. But she watched YouTube videos and taught herself to fix it.”
Jealousy gnawed. “You could’ve told her to come pick me up.”
“Maybe, but then she might’ve been weird about us making out in the ride before homeroom. Bro, there’s like a whole couch in that thing.”
“Judas.”
“I can’t believe Cressie’s back again. You think she missed me?”
“No.”
“How she looking?”
“Bitch, that’s my sister!”
“So . . . good?”
“I haven’t seen her, Qwan.” Perhaps the snap in my voice was as horrible as I imagined. He flinched. Backed off the totally irritating questions for the kind-of-irritating ones. “She gonna let you have the ride back for your thing with Kiera tonight?”
Who knew? Since Cressie’s last update to Mom, she hadn’t responded to any of my extremely detailed texts explaining my dire need.
Qwan, maybe sensing the land mine his foot hovered over, moved on. “You thought about how you gonna kick your game tonight?”
His assumption that I’d still make my date, and that I’d have the opportunity to work things in my favor, was comforting. The power of positive thinking, right? My best plan: “Go on the offensive. No more passive plans, or schemes, or whatever.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, D. Look, when you get seated at the restaurant, you gotta make it seem like you’re used to this sort of thing, though. Take charge. Girls like that. Say something like hey, the hush puppies are great here. I’m going to order you some.”
“Does that place have hush puppies?”
“Don’t matter. The idea is you’re in control. She don’t even have to worry about trivial stuff like ordering her own food when you’re around.”
Even I knew enough to know how dumb that sounded. First of all, Qwan might be a sexual dynamo, but the number of date-dates he’d been on . . . questionable. “Where did you get that from?”
“Saw it in a movie.”
Wonderful. “Did it work with Angie?”
Qwan shrugged. “She don’t like hush puppies.”
When asked about the possibility of borrowing one of their cars, each of my parents took the time to remind me, in their own special way, about the difference between my automobile-related expenses and my recent income. Of course I tried Dad first, hoping for a little understanding. His rejection was gentle. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t want your mom to kill me.”
I found Mom in the kitchen, poring over a number of torn envelopes—power company, cable, mortgage—with her laptop humming, and her checkbook ready. Her frown was chiseled on, and I didn’t immediately flee the room. Desperate times . . .
“Mom . . .”
“You are not getting my car keys. Boy, bye.”
My recently retired Schwinn ten-speed sat canted between stacked boxes and old luggage in the garage. The tires were still plump and tight, something I might’ve considered good news if I wasn’t riding a freaking bike to my dinner with Kiera freaking Westing.
The frigid breeze bit into my face and hands as I coasted through the Green Creek streets. It was a short ride, a couple of miles, but I did it fast so I could chain my bike to a lamppost a full block from the restaurant with time to spare.
Priority number one: a good dinner and alone time. If I nailed that, I could survive my carless weekend relatively unscathed.
Mama Marian’s, with its African-themed red, black, and green walls, was a new restaurant in an old bank building from when Green Creek was founded in the 1800s. It still looked like a bank, vault and all. The big round porthole door was painted black, and permanently wedged open at the kitchen’s entrance. A little weird, but since the only restaurant I’d spent time in lately was Monte FISHto’s, I was fine with the decor. The
earthy scent of seasoned greens, a whiff of sugar and cinnamon from fresh-baked sweet potato pies, the pop and sizzle of battered chicken hitting hot grease. My stomach contracted with anticipation, and I fired off a text to Kiera.
Me: I’m at the spot. You nearby?
Kiera: Close. Be there in like two minutes
Awesome.
“How many, sweetie?” The hostess shuffled menus and prewrapped cutlery behind her podium.
“Three.”
“Let me know when they’re here.”
Right on time, Deacon Westing’s car slipped into a spot at the curb, Kiera and Jameer piling out. On the fly, I made a decision. I exited Mama Marian’s, walked right past Kiera and Jameer, squatted at the open passenger window of the car, and said, “Hope you’re having a blessed night tonight, Deacon.”
He was behind the wheel in a plaid shirt and khakis, the citrus notes of his cologne wafting toward me. “Same to you, Del. I’m happy to hear you all taking your pledge so seriously.”
“I treat the Bible like an instruction book, sir. It’s like Psalm 119:9 says, ‘How can a young person stay on the path to purity? By living according to your word.’”
Deacon Westing smacked his thigh. “Well, ain’t that the truth!” Suddenly, he was digging in his pocket, freeing a thick leather billfold. “Kiera has money, but here,” he slipped a twenty to me, “in case you kids want to get some dessert. Gotta indulge sometime.”
I played bashful while pressing the bill into my hip pocket. “That’s true, sir. That’s true.”
When I backed away, he yelled past me to Kiera, “Sweetie, let me know if you think you’re going to be late. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy!” she said, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me.
“You kids have a wonderful night of fellowship.” His car motored away, and I faced my friends. “Shall we?”
Kiera still seemed perplexed, but Jameer, that look on his face was awe. He knew good work when he saw it. On our way into the restaurant, I said, “I’m going to order us some extra hush puppies. They’re good here.”
I requested the hostess give us a booth, and when Kiera sat, I slid in next to her. She seemed slightly surprised, but this was part of the choreography me and Jameer had discussed. It was better that I already be situated next to Kiera when he made his exit so we could remain close without me making things awkward.
The first basket of hush puppies arrived and Kiera got right to business. “Group work isn’t always my favorite, but I think our Purity Pledge class is well equipped to pull off something special. I was thinking maybe a skit, or something. We can play out some of the good and bad scenarios we’ve learned about.”
“A skit?” Jameer said, chomping a hush puppy in half. “We could do a purity rap, too?”
“Don’t make me reach across this table and pluck you in your forehead, Jameer,” Kiera snapped back in a way I hadn’t seen before, sort of sassy.
Couldn’t help but laugh a little, and Kiera turned on me, playful but direct. “You have a problem with my skit idea, too?”
“I’m not saying it’s corny.” I fiddled with the straw that came with my water.
“What are you saying?”
“I was hoping not to say anything, and the corniness could remain implied.”
Kiera popped her neck, and made a show of flipping her hair over her shoulder. “The devil is a lie.”
It was one of those phrases that got tossed around Purity Pledge, and I guess First Missionary, a lot. Something I’d logged into the corniness column at first, and had to get Jameer to decode. “The devil is a lie,” not “a liar.” It was like the black church version of “your initial hypothesis is incorrect” or “mf’er, you wildin’.”
Kiera wasn’t angry. She smiled. Was relaxed. Her hip brushed mine. While she looked away, I flicked a glance Jameer’s way. Now.
Jameer made a show of rubbing his stomach. “I’m going to run to the restroom, guys. Be right back.”
Of course he wouldn’t. He slid from the booth, made his way toward the front of the restaurant as our waitress returned. “Y’all ready to order.”
I started rattling off what I wanted, when Kiera interrupted me. “Shouldn’t we wait until Jameer’s back?”
Almost fumbled there. I still had to pretend I thought he was actually coming back. “Right, right. Can we have a minute?”
The waitress departed, while I slipped my phone out beneath the table, prepared to send the signal for Jameer to text back saying he was out for the evening. Kiera sipped on the lemonade she ordered, then coughed, and coughed some more. Loud, hacking explosions while she kneaded her fist into her sternum trying to stave off the choking fit. She stabbed a finger at her glass, and shook her head, signaling she’d swallowed wrong.
I smacked her back the way my mom did whenever it happened to me.
The coughs slowed. “Sorry . . . fine. I’m . . . fine. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“. . . People . . . staring.”
“Let them.”
My hand remained on her back, massaging in small circles. Only noticed I was still touching her when she said, “Thank you. That feels nice.”
The room brightened. Those three words flipped a switch, heightening my perception. Strawberry-scented body spray, boobs stretching her sweater, her thigh brushing against mine. All the stimuli hit me like a quick-handed boxer.
My jeans constricted suddenly, almost painfully. I snatched my hand away from her, reflex tugging the hem of my jacket, concealing the embarrassing insta-bulge.
Frowning, her eyebrows knitting closer together, she said, “Are you okay?”
My horror lasted a second, if that. Kiera looked past me. I twisted slightly, turning my unwelcome erection away from the object of my desire, and found a stricken Jameer, who looked as sick as he was supposed to be pretending to be. He shouldn’t be here. This was not part of the plan.
“Hey,” he said, “maybe we should go somewhere else.”
“What? Why?” This was so far off script my knee-jerk reaction was rage, until I followed the panicked glances Jameer flicked toward the restaurant entrance.
Colossus Turner and three of his thick-necked wrestling teammates were coming our way.
My anger quickly became terror.
The wrestlers arrived and the scene unspooled with painful slowness before me.
Colossus kept examining all the players present. The social calculus didn’t make any sense. Kiera wasn’t on a date with two dudes. Nothing here seemed romantic. I kept tugging at my jacket, willing my unresponsive hard-on down.
Finally, cautiously, Colossus said, “Del. Jameer.”
Jameer said nothing. I tipped my chin slightly.
Colossus said, “Kiera, can we talk outside?”
“No!” she snapped. “Go talk to your kid, or your baby mama!”
The smallest wrestler in the crew laughed lightly, and Colossus saved his most aggressive look of the night for that guy. He smoothed the annoyance off his face before addressing Kiera. Mostly. “Come on. I know you stuck believing all these lies about me, but I miss you, bae. I just want one minute.”
“You don’t stop, do you?” It sounded like another refusal, but the inch of space between us vanished. Kiera nudged me, pushing me from the booth. I’d have to stand up to let her out. My dick was . . . still . . . hard!
Not any erection, mind you. Harder than a missile. If I stood up, I’d look like the textbook definition of “perpendicular.”
“Del,” Kiera nudged harder, “let me out.”
I nudged back. “Uh, are you sure?”
Colossus’s head cocked, the neutral facade he’d maintained cracked. “Stay out of this, Del. Ain’t none of your business.”
“No,” Kiera said, settling back into her seat, “he’s right. You’re not going to bully me into hearing your tired, trifling excuses. You should be at Taylor’s changing diapers.”
He wasn’t even listening to her.
All of his attention was on the attainable victory. “Del, dawg, I ain’t never had no problem with you before, but I feel like I’m gonna have to check you now.”
Eye contact maintained, I tried for the no-fear approach. Stay calm. Don’t let him smell your fear.
“Leave him alone,” Kiera insisted, and I finally felt my body soften, the humiliation of her standing up for me having the effect I’d been wishing. Not fast enough.
“Get up so I can talk to my girl!” Colossus snatched my jacket with one hand, effortlessly reeling me from my seat. Exposing me.
“Whoa!” one of the wrestlers said, eyes angled down. “He’s like half-tent!”
Jameer saw it too, flinched.
Colossus’s fist sprung loose like a reverse bear trap. He backed away, horrified. “Bro, what the hell?”
The other wrestlers laughed, and the embarrassment was the mental equivalent of cold water. I rapidly retracted, the cramped tightness in my crotch becoming cavernous. My only comfort being my back was to Kiera. No way she saw what had all the dudes around me acting like I’d pulled a gun.
“I’m done.” Kiera slid from the booth, made for the door.
Colossus called for her. She walked backward while she spoke, her cell raised like a ward against evil. “I’m calling my dad. Would you like to speak to him, too?”
Colossus backed off.
People were staring now. The unwanted attention combined with my embarrassment ejected me from the restaurant. I wasn’t chasing Kiera as much as fleeing her ex, but when I spotted her turning the corner in the same general direction of my parked bike, well, why not?
“Kiera, wait up!” She didn’t slow down, but I caught her easily.
“You don’t need to walk with me, Del. I’m fine.”
“I want to walk with you.” Blurted so honestly that I regretted it immediately. It didn’t feel smooth, it wasn’t game.
I went for a neutral follow-up, pushing for—needing—more conversation. “Did you really call your dad?”
“No. If I called Daddy for a ride, it’d cause all kinds of problems that I don’t need right now. I’m trying to get an Uber home.” She stared at her phone, then extended her arm like that would fix the problem. You couldn’t get an Uber in Green Creek. Not fast. Most of the drivers were like an hour away.
