The Homeboy and The Virgin

15-Junior

    I grabbed my jacket from the backseat and wrapped it around my freezing legs. I knew my anger at Duke went far more than his need to protect me. I was a bit jealous. Especially since it was Laila. Any other girl wouldn’t have mattered to me, but I felt like an old car, traded in when I worked just fine, but the owner wanted something that looked a lot better.

    Even more so, I was mad at myself. I had kissed him last week, even though I had told myself I wouldn’t. But the kiss kind of came naturally, since he was hurting. I was a sucker for boys in pain, and he was in a lot of pain. Enough to send him to tears. Still, there was no one at fault but myself. I didn’t have to kiss him. Seemed like Laila was doing plenty of that these past few days. If his bouncing around like a new man was anything to go by.

   Speaking of Laila….

   Why in the hell hadn’t my brother come with her? Or, you know, even seemed a bit worried about her? Normally if she came visit, he asked us to keep an eye on her. But there was nothing this time, not a thing. Not a message nor call….actually, Crank had been MIA since he left after his last visit home. Which was weird. Normally he would’ve called Mom or Dad.

   I opened my phone to check Facebook. If anything had happened, it would be there.

   I typed in his name. As his page loaded, I watched the door open and close, but I couldn’t see anybody come out of the door. Looking down at my phone, I strolled past a few love quotes and posts on his page from various girls until I saw

   Crank went from being “in a relationship” to “single.”

   I let out a little yelp of surprise. He had broken up with his right-hand? His second in command, the love of his life? His baby mama?

    I went to dial Mama’s number to tell her—because if she knew, it would’ve been information she had told me, even if it was in passing conversation—but somebody knocked on the window. I jumped, turning to see Chris. He opened the passenger door up, looking irritated and a bit surprised. “You’re not cryin’?” he asked, lighting a cigarette.

   Frowning, I shook my head. My curls bounced against my cheek. “Um, no. Should I be?” I hadn’t known Duke’s mom well enough to cry for her, even though I did tear up at the funeral because I always seemed to get sad around other sad people.

   He nodded. “Duke’s in there with Laila.”

   “And?” I demanded. “We’re friends.”

    He blew out a puff of smoke. “Yeah. Okay.” He snorted, picking up his phone. “Anyway, I needed to smoke, Rena doesn’t like it, and she sent me out here to check on you. Everybody seems to think you’re about to go kill yourself over this Duke and Laila thing. Except me.”

   Chris of all people was one of the few who disagreed with the others? Now, that was an interesting turn of events. “Why you?”

   “Because,” he muttered, blowing out another ring of smoke, “you’re not the type. If I showed up with another girl, Rena would cry. She’s the lovin’ type. She doesn’t just fall—she has to trip, stumble, roll, and then fall. You, on the other hand, could care less whether a boy comes or goes. Of course, you’ll be mad, upset even, but give it a few days and you won’t even care anymore.”

    Huh. Was that it? Did I not care anymore? “Really?”

    He laughed. “Nope, I’m bullshittin’ you.” He was silent as he smoked, and I didn’t mind the silence. Chris was… well, Chris. I neither disliked him nor liked him, but he did treat Rena nice, so I didn’t care too much about his habits. I didn’t have to like them, only she did. “You aren’t upset because you know Duke is a douchebag. He’s my best friend, but I admit it. He’s a douche. As am I. We’re all douches. It comes with bein’ a Homeboy.