I sit, patiently, tapping the toes of my Vans against each other and blowing raspberries as I wait. I try not to slouch, but after a minute or so I can't help myself. My palms are flat against the cold surface I sit on, inches away from my bum, so my back and my shoulders lean further away from my hips, instead of parallel to them. Every few seconds, a passer-by steps over my outstretched legs, but I still don't bring myself to move them. The shadow of the bus stop to my left looms over me, shielding the sunlight and cooling me down. My phone pings and I slip it out of my bag, glancing at the text I'd received. I reply curtly and put it away again, deciding it's too hot to sit and stare at my screen for longer than a minute.
The sun beats down on everything below it, baking exposed skin through several hues of gold and kissing everything it reaches. There's a timid breeze skating between limbs and slipping beneath loose clothes, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sun. The air is humid and heavy, as if it's carrying the heat on its back like a rucksack, and the sky is a stretch of rich, unsoiled blue. There's a distinct aura in London's tone today. I don't know how to describe it. Like someone's squeezing a juice-box till its insides meet, trying to get to those last few drops. It feels like the end of summer. It's the long queues in uniform stores, the rustling of Wilko bags, the hastened footsteps of last-minute shoppers. Woolwich is buzzing with academic dread, and yet complimented by the excitement of a new year. On the spectrum, I'd say I'm stuck between the two.
When Tiegan Chi, my long term best friend, steps off her bus, I spot her instantly. Her dark, wavy locks frame her face, cascading down her back and at her sides, all the way to her waist. Her lips are plump and pursed and her almond-shaped eyes are narrow and sharp as she scans her surroundings, looking for me. I force myself to my feet and wait for our eyes to finally meet. When they do, she beams warmly, flipping her hair out of her face and sashaying towards me. When she steps into the sun, her skin is aglow and the tan she'd caught in Vietnam glimmers. I wait till she's close enough, then I pull her into my arms and we embrace, bouncing with enthusiasm.
"I haven't seen you in like ten years!" I squeal, as I pull away and push her locks back over her shoulders. Tiegan rolls her eyes and flags her hands at me. "I'm offended that you can survive this long without me."
"I was gone a week, D. And we were basically together the whole time," she argues, linking her arm with mine. We move from where I'd once waited, and begin walking towards the shops. The heat immediately engulfs me and I feel like I'm wearing a fur coat.
"True. You're obsessed with me. I don't even wanna know what your phone bill looks like," I reply. She makes a face of disgust.
"Try go on holiday with Torin, Talon and Tai. Your phone bill would probably be worse," she jokes about her elder siblings. I snicker in response. "Ugh. I wish I had a sister."
"You have me. Plus, I don't think you could manage not being the only girl," I remind her, and she makes a face in agreement. Tiegan is the youngest of her siblings, Torin, Talon and Tai Sesay, and although she has a different dad, no one can tell them that that isn't their baby sister. Torin is only a year older than us, and Talon and Tai five years older than him, but with the way she's treated, you'd think the age gap was larger.
"So what did I miss? Chanel and Daniel stopped fucking about yet? Armani get arrested again? Fill me in," she asks, sarcastically, and I mush her head.
"Stop acting like I didn't fill you in everyday. Chanel and Daniel are both unserious. And if Armani got arrested again, I'm sure you would be the first person he calls. Even if you're all the way in Vietnam," I say. I can practically see the blood gushing to her cheeks. Armani and Chanel Sinclair are my twin, older siblings and like Torin, are in the year above us. Armani and Torin, better known to their peers as Loose and Tigz, are the best of friends and menaces to society, following in the footsteps of Tai, Talon and my last and eldest sibling, Valentino Sinclair. You'll usually catch Armani and Tigz in their little, bad breed quadruplet, with one boy that I've never met and can't name for the life of me, and Daniel "Syco" Simone— who has the biggest crush on Chanel.
"I don't like this whole 'Tiegan and Armani are in love' narrative. He's scaring off all my admirers, ruining my market," Tiegan huffs, trying and failing to smother the grin on her face.
"You already slipped up and told me you liked him, Tiegs. At the beginning of summer when you were drunk off your ass. Do I need to bring out that video and remind you?" I taunt her. She viscously cuts her eye at me, looking very much like her mum.
"No offense, but your brother is a j-bag. And I can't cuff one of those," she says. A small, stick built kid on a bright red scooter zips towards us. We step apart and he zooms between us, before we meet each other's side again and walk closer to the storefronts.
"None taken. He's literally your boyfriend," I say.
"He's not."
"Yeah well, good luck trying to find happiness with anyone else. Armani is the biggest cockblock I've ever met in my life. Besides Torin," I remind her, and she lets out this strangled groan of defeat because she knows I'm right.
"I'll just have to be lowkey, like Chan and Daniel," she sighs.
"They're not lowkey, Armani is just slow. Stop acting like you don't want that boy, because he's been made it known that he's very much in love with you," I say, bumping my shoulder against hers. She rolls her eyes.
"If he learns to keep his dick in his pants, maybe I'll consider him," Tiegan shrugs, I look at her crazily.
"You mean you'll take him seriously? We all know you're already considering him," I tease her and she swats my forearm. "I think that's so cute. My best friend and my brother go together. His twin and his best friend go together. I just love love."
"Stop saying that. We don't go together. I blame you for this rumour," Tiegan laughs at my dazed expression but I ignore her. Anyone with eyes can see that they want each other. Their energies align, she's like the peace to the hurricane that he is. If only she put her doubts aside and he left the streets alone.
"If you're gonna blame anyone, blame Armani. He never corrects anyone when they say you're his girl. When he had friends over on Thursday, I heard one of them asking about you and Armani promised to facebang him if he spoke about you again. Isn't that so cute?" I gush, purposely leaving out the bit where he actually done it. Tiegan stares at me blankly.
"That is ghetto as hell," she replies. "Armani is literally my polar opposite."
"I know that's what makes it so—"
"Cute, yes Dior. I've heard you," she interjects, rolling her eyes.
"You guys should seriously stop playing about. The fact Chanel is settling down before you is honestly shocking. I didn't think she'd ever drop this whole 'We're just best friends' excuse," I say.
"Honestly same. With the way Daniel is with her, I'm surprised she even lasted this long," Tiegan agrees. We approach JD's glossy, black threshold, the LED lights lining the entrance light up our paths as we enter. Tiegan's eyes brighten as she scans the racks upon racks of shoes and tracksuits and t-shirts and accessories. I can almost see any sense of money management slip from her brain through her ears, which is probably why she'd asked me to join her in the first place.
"Okay, what are we getting? Kickers? Or trainers?" I question. Tiegan spins back in my direction, smiling sheepishly as she's drawn back to her senses.
"Am I allowed to wear trainers at Ocean View? 'Cause we weren't allowed to at Silver Oak," she questions, and I roll my eyes. This academic year, Tiegan is transferring from Silver Oak to Ocean View, where I go to school. She managed to convince her parents that she wasn't the problem, the teachers at Silver Oak were. If she comes to OV and there's no progression in her attitude towards her education, I'm convinced they'll send her to a private school. Meanwhile, Chanel and Armani are leaving me and moving to Eastridge College for the next two years. A part of me is sad that they're leaving, but a greater part of me is happy that I'll have Tiegan around instead.
"Silver Oak is so strict, of course you can wear trainers," I answer. I pick up the left foot to an all black pair of Huraches, glancing at the size details on the inside of the shoe's tongue.
"Do you know that? Or are you just saying that?" Tiegan asks, through narrowed eyes. "I'm not trying to carry over my misbehaviour streak to OV. Tai may actually start beating me."
"Then you need to follow in my footsteps. Copy me, and you'll be fine," I shrug. I pass her the shoe and she studies it.
"Why would I want to copy you? Aren't you on report? Like, permanently?" She asks.
"Funny."
"It wasn't a—"
"Tiegan, pay for the damn shoe," I huff. She chuckles slightly, and then wanders off in the direction of a triplet of unoccupied women in JD attire. I find myself stalking off the opposite way. I didn't have anything in mind, pertaining to purchases, when I left my house this morning, but now that I'm here, I think I'll help myself. I run my finger down the arms of a grey Tech Fleece. I stole Chanel's, but it's approaching that season where she'll begin to pester me for it back. I flick through the rack in search of an extra small, and find it at the back, the corresponding bottoms tucked right behind it. I smile, and pull them both from where they hang. I hold up the two items, scanning them for stains or loose threads. The price tags make my smile falter. God, that's a lot for a fucking tracksuit.
When I step away from the frame of clothes, I'm almost knocked off my feet as a notably larger body smacks into my own. The items slip from my hands and it feels as though half the wind is whipped from my being. My ankles and knees knock into each other and I begin to topple over, only for a thick arm to slip around my torso and steady me, with ease. My face flushes red with embarrassment, as my body is suddenly pressed so tightly into another. Once the agonisingly slow second-long moment of dizziness passes, I notice my clothes bundled in a hand that is evidently not my own. A hand lined with veins and knuckles tainted with faded scars. I look from the hand to the face that it belongs to. The face of one of the prettiest boys I've ever seen in my life.
Every face has a focal point and for him it's surely his lips, they're pink and plump and unnervingly inviting. Set into a firm line, as he stares me over. He has this bewildered look in his onyx-coloured eyes, like he's scared he might have actually hurt me. His bushy eyebrows are furrowed with concern, and his kinky lashes flutter briskly as he tries to register the five foot girl in his arms. He's tall—well, significantly taller than me—and his skin is intimidatingly clear. Like, the surface of a cup of tea type clear. Something about the way his face is structured throws me off, and for a second I struggle to decide whether this guy is real or not. His ears are studded, his braids are clean, his trim is fresh and the curls in his small beard are glossy and tamed.
The slightly contorted expression on his face pertains, as his eyes swiftly race over my entire profile. I immediately grow self-conscious, I try to guess what's running through his mind as he stares at me like that. Am I sweating? Is my forehead shiny? He tilts his head slightly. The corners of his lips curl and peel apart, so I can see the two silver caps on his incisors. He looks a lot more mysterious than your average black boy, a lot less tolerant too. Half of me is waiting for him to shove me out of his way and kiss his teeth. He can probably sense my growing wariness towards him, he must know how intimidating he is, surely. I feel like he's smiling down at me to try and ease my nerves and utter embarrassment, but it's more of a smirk and it's not helping. Like, at all. But my God, he is beautiful.
"Are you good? My bad," he says smoothly, after what feels like forever. His arm slips from where it'd been resting, although his hand hovers at my waist as if I may just fall flat on my face in humiliation. Which sounds very tempting right now. He holds the Nike set out to me, and for a second I don't even remember what the fuck it is, let alone the fact that I'm supposed to take it from him. I do, hurriedly. Pattern up, Dior. I take a step away from him, and a deep breath.
"Sorry. I wasn't even looking where I was going," I stutter, like a bitch, and inwardly curse myself for it. Composure. His eyes crinkle slightly and a soft chuckle slips from between his parted lips. I watch him look me up and down once again, from my feet to my crown.
"You're good," he responds. His hand slips into the pocket of his coincidentally black Tech Fleece bottoms, the other remains at his side with his phone in clutch.
"Yeah. Sorry."
"You said that already," he says, and I swear his smirk brightens. I almost want to vomit. You're a weirdo, just walk away now, I tell myself. I purse my lips and nod my head. His phone pings and I steal the opportunity to turn and get the fuck away from him. I don't know whether he looks at me as I scurry towards the queue, because my back is to him, thank God. The fact that I have little to no ass probably would've disengaged his interest, anyway. There's one bald man in front of me, with resistance bands slung over his shoulder and a pair of orange and blue running shoes hanging from his fingers. In front of him, Tiegan is getting her trainers bagged at the counter. Within five minutes, the cashier is pushing my clothes into my hands and handing me a receipt. My face is still hot with embarrassment. I know so, because Tiegan is looking at me funny.
I'm rarely ever in those situations. When I am, they usually go like that. Although, never to that degree of mortifying. Unsurprisingly, my brothers are a big red flag when it comes to boys approaching me. Nobody can be bothered to deal with the stress of getting past them, I can't say I blame them for it. Those that do, come to realise I'm far too shy, I'm far too frigid and I'm unintentionally stush. The whole 'never kissed a boy' thing is usually where they draw the line. Although, I don't know why that comes as a shocker to so many people. My history is squeaky clean, and not in a good way. Dull is the word I would use. I've only ever had one boyfriend, and when boys find out what happened to him, that's usually the dealbreaker. Yes, I have little to no experience when it comes to boys. Especially with anyone as fine as that guy. He breathed and I was literally rendered speechless.
Tiegan and I silently leave the shop, the frown on her face is deep and she studies me intently, so I cave and let out this self-disgusted groan as I survey the faces around us and make sure the boy is not within earshot when I say this. "Did you not see that guy that I bumped into?"
"Is that why you look like you just sucked a lemon? 'Cause you bumped into some guy?" Tiegan questions, folding her arms. The soft breeze pushes her locks over her shoulders and the sunlight spills across her face in a way that enunciates all her asiacentric features.
"He was leng, first of all. Like, disgustingly leng," I defend myself. We pause, beside the shop, as I dig in my bag for my phone. Tiegan's mouth twists to the side.
"Like Chris Brown leng?"
"Like Dave East leng," I correct her.
"Like that guy?" She gestures over my shoulder. I hastily follow her line of sight, and do a double take when I realise it's him. It's the same guy. Leaning against the wall with his phone to his ear and two boys at his side. We stare at him and he stares right back. I can't decipher anything from the look on his face, but the way his bottom lip is subtly tucked between his two rows of teeth has my imagination running wild. When his lip slips out, and he runs his tongue along the width of it, I feel my composure crumble even further, somehow. I realise that we're blatantly staring, Tiegan more openly so than I. She swats at my arm, "Look, he's with Whiz and Rolo—"
"Bitch, don't point. Move," I hiss, clasping my clammy palm around her wrist and dragging her along with me as she snickers at my flustered facial expression. I wait till we're around the corner and undoubtedly out of his line of sight till I let her go and return to my leisurely pace. I can still hear my heartbeat in my ears, and the swarm of butterflies in my stomach are still rampant.
"You're a bit dramatic," Tiegan teases, bumping her shoulder against mine. I cut my eye at her in response. Tiegan is naturally a lot more anti-social than I am, but she's a smooth talker when she needs to be, and she's bloody good at it too. I'm sure Armani can attest that, since that's definitely where she learnt it from. In my position, I'm sure she would've left the shop with his number, at least.
"Leave me alone," I huff. I don't want to think about it anymore. It's very unlikely that I'll ever see him again anyway, and I think I'm okay with that. "Your brother texted me."
"Saying?"
"Saying 'Where u?' and then 'Text me back' and then 'Tell ur lil dickhead friend to answer her phone, the fuck'. He is just so sweet," I joke. Tiegan scoffs and proceeds to pull out her phone as we venture into the backside of Woolwich, where KFC is tucked between hair shops and a bustling pub, with drunk men spilling onto the surrounding pavement. I briefly wonder what could possibly have them drinking at 5 in the afternoon, as I watch them drunkenly shove each other around while they laugh. KFC is soberly different. There's an assembly of dark-clothed teenage boys dotted before the storefront, bikes between legs and against the window, the poignant smell of marijuana hanging around them like a fog.
They thankfully shuffle out of our way as we move towards the door, one of them even opts to open it for us, to which we say our thanks and then step inside. Unsurprisingly, there's a crowd of people in here too, some eating, some probably queuing, although I can't tell the difference between the two. Tiegan scrunches her nose up at the conflicting smells of food and sweat, as she tucks her phone away again. "Torin said he's downstairs with Armani," she says, I nod. We eventually find ourselves at the counter, after asking countless people whether they'd been served or not. The worker raises a finger at us and we wait patiently, scanning the people around us for recognisable faces.
"Look, there goes Ty," I nod my head at one of my school peers. As if he hears me, he glances in my direction. I smile and wave and he does the same, not stopping on his way to wherever. His gaze lingers on Tiegan, and I chuckle.
"I thought his name was Tyrese," she mutters.
"Come on, of all the tags we've heard, that's probably the most sensible one. I'll give him that," I say. "I seen the way he was eyeing you, though. Don't hurt 'em." She shakes her head at my teasing.
"Do not do that. I don't even know the guy, and I can't be assed to get jumped by our friends if I try to," she jokes. The worker behind the till grabs her attention and she begins to recite our order to him. I listen absentmindedly, as I watch an all too familiar somebody push his way through the sea of bodies to join us where we stand. The worker reads out our total, and I grin up at Torin Sesay, or Tigz, as innocently as I can, while he comes to a halt right between us.
"Just in time," I smile, patting his shoulder. He scowls down at the two of us, but slips a ten sheet from his pocket anyway, and over the counter. I extend my arms around his body and give him a sheepish hug. When I pull away, he ruffles my hair and greets his sister in the same way. "Welcome back. How was Vietnam?"
"Decent, decent. Food was lit, girls are top tier out there, you know," Torin grins. I purse my lips. Torin is a 6"2, mixed race hood nigga with money, wit and a whole lot of girls on his tail—of course. He defies most light skinned stereotypes: he's not corny, he's not soft—like, at all—and his preference when it comes to girls has nothing to do with a head full of curls and yellow skin. However, he's a slut, and I'm sure he couldn't keep his dick in his pants for any longer than a week, even if he actually wanted to.
"Why did you think I wanted to know that?" I answer him, through narrowed eyes and masses of disgust. "How did you even have time to go looking for girls, if you were only there a week? With family?"
"Why do you think I go looking for girls? They definitely come looking for me," he frowns. Tiegan scoffs, and screws him passionately.
"I wish I could tell you he was lying. They flocked to him like birds, it was embarrassing," she says, gagging. I laugh at her dramatics, Torin wraps a coil of her hair around his finger and tugs, enough to jerk her head but not to do any damage. She stares up at him, unamused. "Oi, don't mess up my hair."
"I thought that was the look you were going for," he teases.
"You're one to talk."
"Uh uh, it's racist when you talk about my hair."
"But not when you talk about my eyes," Tiegan retorts.
"Open them, and then we'll have that discussion," Torin phonily smiles in her face and then lets it drop. I just watch them bicker, with a small smile on my face. If I can count on anyone to make me laugh, it's these two and their domestics. As much as they're at each other's necks, they're seriously like two peas in a pod. You'd think their differing dads would put a strain on their relationship, but they're still as tight as ever. You can see it in the way they ride for each other, mercilessly. The worker piles our food onto a tray and Torin picks it up, leading us away from the counter and towards the stairway descending to the lower-level seating. Tiegan follows suit, as do I, closely behind her.
Downstairs, there's clusters of groups scattered across tables, nowhere near as many people as there had been upstairs and outside. It's notably quieter, and the air conditioning thrusts bouts of cool breezes around the room, instantly making me feel less faint. My body relaxes as the three of us make our way to a vacant booth, tucked into the corner furthest from the stairs. Tiegan takes the seat closest to the wall, I slip in beside her and Torin settles opposite. As soon as my ass touches the seat, another body slips in beside him. Armani Sinclair greets Torin with a bump of their fists, before he snags a chip from my box of food, and then Tiegan's.
I watch in amusement, as he reaches across the table to entwine Tiegan's fingers with his own, and tug her forward. She moans in annoyance, as he manages to dot sloppy kisses across her face, until Torin pulls them apart and pretends to vomit all over the table. I laugh at the scene. Armani flashes his million dollar smile at the three of us. His hair is freshly cornrowed and his skin is brown and sun-kissed. He fold his arms and rests them on the table, slouching forward so his chain dangles from his neck. Armani is just like Torin, in every single sense. They're both responsibly irresponsible, badly behaved teens. Part time womaniser, part time criminal, full time pain in the ass.
He'd been mildly moodier than usual the past week, with his best friend and the 'love of his life' across the world, but today he'd woken up and made the whole house pancakes so I'm sure he's feeling a lot more pleasant now that they're back.
"None of that gay shit around me, thanks," Torin sneers, glaring between his sister and his friend. He too reaches his finger into Tiegan's box of food and pulls out a bouquet of chips, unflatteringly stuffing them into his mouth.
"None of that gay shit at all, thanks," Tiegan argues. Her cheeks are flushed red, not really helping any one of us believe that she meant what she had said.
"When you gonna stop denying me, love?" Armani chuckles. His fists clench ever so slightly, in a way that makes the veins in his arms pop. Tiegan's eyes flicker between them, and his face. I can almost see her melt at the tone of his voice. I find myself smirking at how easy it is for them to woo each other.
"Depends. How many girls did you jeet while I was away?" She questions slickly, with a tilt of her head. I turn back to Armani.
"Jeet? Respect man," he scoffs.
"Mm, so two?" She remarks. Torin laughs lightly from beside Armani, who shoves his elbow into his side in response. I know Armani hadn't been on his usual ungodly antics while she was in Vietnam—he was far too busy getting on everyone else's nerves—but I can't say I blame her for asking. Armani does get around. If he didn't lose interest so quickly, or have the attention span of a goldfish, I'm sure he wouldn't, though.
"I ain't touch nobody, bae. It's these beanies, they're on me. But I tell them, don't worry. I tell them I'm married. Me and my wife are gonna have blasian babies," Armani retorts, with a wink. Tiegan's face doesn't stir in the slightest, her unimpressed expression makes me giggle quietly.
"How you gonna have babies if she's never having sex?" Torin frowns. His words come out muffled by the chips he's still throwing into his mouth. Nobody responds to him. A part of me thinks he one hundred percent believes that that will be the case. Cute. He glances between the four of us, with this air of complete confusion strewn across his face. "What, like, IVF?"
"Torin, you don't even know what IVF is," I chuckle.
"Dior, please," he sighs, blocking me from his view with an outstretched palm. I swat it out of the way, and turn back to my food.
"We're gonna have an AJ. Like Armani Junior," Armani continues, completely ignoring Torin's previous objections. Both Tiegan and I roll our eyes, knowing that when he starts, he doesn't stop for at least ten minutes. I think it's sweet that when he thinks of the future, or when he talks about the future, it's always with Tiegan. He genuinely adores her. And I think when it comes to picking between her or the streets, he'll pick her in a heartbeat.
"You and who though, bro?" Torin asks.
"Me and her, bro. I already asked Big Chi for his blessing," Armani says, referring to Tiegan's dad.
"No you didn't," Torin scoffs.
"No. I didn't. But I will if she stops fucking me about," Armani grins. He takes Tiegan's hand in his again, pulling it to his lips so he can peck her knuckles. She doesn't object, but she does a good job at acting like it didn't fluster her either.
"A damn shame," Tiegan scoffs beneath her breath, pulling her hand out of his. I laugh.
"You might as well say yes, nobody else is gonna take you," Torin says, as he reaches his hand into her box of food, yet again. She smacks his hand with all her might and he yelps, pulling it way out of her reach.
"Both of you can shut up, okay? I have a type. Body count preferably less than two," she remarks, and I nod in agreement.
"But the only thing less than two is one," Torin says, a confused frown etched onto his face.
"Or zero," I remind them. The two of them share a flat look, and then burst into a fit of laughter.
"You're annoying," Tiegan mumbles. She stares into her cup, pushing the ice around with her straw, as the two of us wait for the boys to stop giggling like children.
"Don't worry, bae. From tomorrow, I'll be a virgin. Calm?" Armani smiles innocently, tilting his head towards her.
"That is not how it works, idiot," I interject, Armani shushes at me.
"Aht, worry about yourself," he says. He sits back up in his seat and holds his hand out to me, his beady eyes are locked onto my burger, making me laugh. As if.
"Word. You got no tings," Torin teases. I push Armani's hand away from me, and then flip my middle finger up at Torin. He makes a grab for it, but I swipe my hand out of the way just in time. I wouldn't put it past him to break it.
"Yeah well duh, the fuck?" Armani cuts his eye at Torin. "She doesn't need any. She can wait till she's 25. Or I'm dead, 'cause ain't no way I'm alive and niggas are talking about fucking my sister."
"Niggas are talking about fucking your sister, just not around you," Tiegan says, and Armani looks at her crazily.
"Leave her man, Dior couldn't chat to man even if she wanted to. Stush girl," Torin chuckles. This time, it's him gesturing towards my burger. He reaches for it, smacking his fingers together as if I'd willingly hand it over. Instead, I push his fingers back, until he hisses in pain and pulls away. For some reason, his comment had cast me back to the pretty boy I'd seen in JD. With the mocha skin and the pearly smile and that aura. He has this air about him, like he holds weight in whatever room he enters. He certainly can't be in my year. He's probably one of them. I wouldn't be surprised if they knew him.
A part of me wants to bring him up, to ask for his name at least. There's not many people from our ends that Armani and Torin don't know, surely they'd know him. Or at least know of him. He doesn't seem average to me. I mentally decide, if I'm going to ask anyone, it certainly isn't going to be one of these two. Daniel seems like the safer option. I turn back to Torin with a huff, as he makes a second attempt to steal my burger, and fails, "Why are you gunning for me today? Leave me alone."
"You told that Rebecca girl I was a hoe two weeks ago, don't think I forgot. I was tryna hit," he reminds me. Rebecca Mensah is a dark skinned, slim thick Ghanaian girl in my Chem class at OV. She's also boujee, irritating and a bit of a coon, so I feel like I was doing the both of them a favour.
"But you are. And she asked," I reply, with a shrug. Torin doesn't seem amused, at all.
"This is why you ain't grown since you were twelve," he says, making a swipe for my burger yet again. I bare my teeth like I'm going to bite him and he jumps back.
"If you want to fight, just say that," I snap, taking my food up into my hands, ready to eat it just so that they'd leave me alone.
"You're about 50 kilograms of skin and bone, so play with your life if you want to," Torin counters. Armani snorts loudly, but pulls himself together as soon as he meets my icy glare. "Nobody can beat me."
"Don't you have hayfever? A blade of grass could beat you," I retort, only for Torin to snatch my burger from between my hands. My jaw drops as I watch him shove it into his fat gob and give me half of it back. Armani's laughter roars from the pit of his chest, at the crescent shaped burger Torin had dumped back in my box. Tiegan covers her mouth to keep from laughing but I can hear the giggles slip from her pursed lips. When I said they're a pain in the ass, this is what I meant.
"Torin!" I snap, fighting the sudden urge to cry. "Get the fuck up and get me a new one—guys, it's not funny!"
"No," Torin replies, curtly. I push my food away from me, in annoyance.
"Armani, I'm hungry. That's not fair," I groan, not that he can hear me over the sound of his own hysterics. He covers his mouth with his hand, but it doesn't make much of a difference.
"Dior, man," Torin chuckles. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm not getting up, though. Just ask Syco, 'cause he's on his way down."
"Ask me what?" Daniel Simone, better known as Syco, appears at the foot of our table, pouch slung across his chest and a blue slushy in his grasp. His skin is notably tanned, and I can feel the heat radiating off his being, despite the fact there isn't a speck of sweat on his face. His cologne clings to him faintly, as well as the distinguishable scent of weed. I glance at the shiny watch clasped around his wrist, and then up to his face. And then back to Torin.
"She dropped her burger on the floor," Torin shrugs.
"And the floor took a bite, yeah?" Daniel chuckles, gesturing to my deformed Zinger. For some reason, this only sets both Torin and Armani off again. Daniel plants himself opposite me, shaking his head at his friends with a goofy smile on his face.
"Sorry, Dior. I would've bought it before I came down," Daniel says. I smile and shake my head.
"It's fine. I don't even want it anymore," I huff, glaring at Torin distastefully. I don't know their entire friendship group, but Daniel is undoubtedly the nicest of them all. I used to think he was only so kind to me because he wanted Chanel so bad, but he really is just a good guy.
"Stop being dramatic and eat something," Torin laughs.
"Nigga, shut up," I grumble.
"Where's Chanel?" Tiegan questions. I don't miss the way Daniel perks up in his seat, or the roguish grin threatening to spread across his face, at the mention of my big sister—who just so happens to be his best friend turned lover. For years, Daniel relentlessly flirted with Chanel, and she had herself and everyone else convinced that that was just how their friendship worked. Despite his acts of love, service and affection, she really believed that this boy didn't actually have feelings for her. When I finally convinced her to just ask him, he gladly admitted that he did and they've been in their little 'situationship' ever since—that was at the beginning of their summer.
"I think she's on her way inside, she messaged me," I answer Tiegan, shooting Daniel a ribbing look that he should know all too well by now. Teasing the both of them about how lovesick they are for each other has grown to be the highlight of my days.
"Aren't you gonna pull her a chair, Daniel?" Tiegan questions, and she tilts her head in a way that falsely convinces the rest of the table that there's no underlying meaning to her question.
"Before you do that, Armani, can you take me to the corner shop?" I ak. Armani makes a face, as his eyes dart between Torin—who's helped himself to the rest of my burger—and I.
"He's the one who stole your food," Armani argues.
"Okay, is Valentino about? I'll just ask him then."
"Get the fuck up, you fucking headache," he snaps, pushing himself out of his seat. Daniel swings his legs out of the booth and Armani shuffles past him. I slip my bag across my body once again and stand to my feet. I watch Armani pull himself together, dusting off his bottoms and tweaking his shirt till it clings to him snugly. He nods his head towards the stairs. My eyes meet those of the brown skinned girl descending them, and I smile warmly, stepping away from the table. Chanel Sinclair sashays towards our booth, her upturned eyes dart around the room before they settle on the two of us, and then our three friends at the table.
Her pouty lips fall into a smile, the thin layer of gloss coating them sparkles. Today, her skin is rid of any makeup but her natural beauty gleams, even in this dimly lit room. The taut topknot bun on her head lifts her face and showcases her ears, and the studs and diamonds that line them. Her jumpsuit clings to her body like film, accenting her petite figure. She'd effortlessly captured the attention of everyone she'd passed by, but the stares diminish as soon as they realise who she is, more importantly where she's heading to. She greets everyone at the table with a bright smile, slipping in beside Daniel. Armani's eyes narrow.
"Hi," she grins, looking between the five of us. Chanel's voice is deceitfully sweet and airy, she sounds an awful lot softer than she actually is. Daniel takes his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from saying something that will surely get the both of them in trouble.
"Chan, what are you wearing? Where did you even go, where you coming from?" Armani interrogates and I roll my eyes. I think he forgets that we're his sisters, and not his children. I understand that protectiveness he has ingrained in his mindset—we all have it—but I'm convinced that if he could lock us in the house till we're thirty, he'd do it.
"This is a jumpsuit, I went Crep Select and then I went home and then I came here," Chanel responds. She absentmindedly scoots closer to Daniel, reaching into my box of food for the little chips I have left. When Daniel's hand slyly slips onto her thigh, I take that as our cue to leave. I move towards the stairs and Armani follows. The shop is significantly less rowdy than it had been, I find it much easier to maneuver through standing customers and towards the open door. We stop outside briefly, Armani takes it upon himself to greet the people that he knows, and then we're off again. Past the pub, across the road, and into the corner shop.
"How much can I spend?"
"It's your money, why the fuck you asking me?" Armani frowns, as he scans the shelves of chocolate below the counter. I narrow my eyes.
"Where did you say Tino was, again?"
"Dior. Pick up what the fuck you want," Armani huffs. He brandishes a contactless card at me, I take it from him with a satisfied sigh. "Get me a Snickers, yeah? Duo." He steps out of the shop. I stroll down the centre aisle, picking things up as I go. The deeper into the shop I venture, the chillier it gets. The currents of cool air from the refrigerated drinks at the back run up the lengths of my arms, and I shudder. I come to a stop, surveying the array of multicoloured beverages. I take a bottle of Bigga into my free hand. My arms grow threateningly full, but I still reach for another bottle of a different flavour. It's been pushed back on the top ledge, but if I get on the tip of my toes, I may just be able to—
"You can't reach?" The hairs at the back of my neck stand to attention, at the proximity of the voice and the alluring timbre of it, too. I drop back onto my heels and spin where I stand. I'm met with a broad chest clothed in black. My eyes flit to the chain slung around his neck, and then our gazes lock and I'm left starstruck, once again. It's the guy, the guy. He tilts his head leftwards, recognition bubbles in his eyes as he looks me over, a coy smile creeps onto his face. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, before he opens his mouth to speak, "Let me grab that for you." What I want to say, is No, I'm fine, thank you, but the words don't come out. Instead, I remain rooted in my place.
His arm extends over my shoulder, I lean back slightly as he moves into my personal space. A flush of deja vu tingles throughout my being. He steps away from me with my drink caged in his palm. He holds it out to me, and I take it. "Thanks," I say, quietly. My shyness is irritating, to new people and especially to myself, but he seems to find it amusing. I can tell by the way his smile flits when I speak.
"You're welcome, pretty." And then he's off. He steps away from me, chuckles lightly, turns on his heel and makes his way back to the front of the shop. I lean into the rackety frame of biscuits to the right of me and look up to the mirror latched onto the ceiling's corner. I can see a distorted image of him, pointing at something behind the counter so the cashier can pick it up. I watch him pay for his goods, glance back towards where he'd left me in the back of the shop, and then leave. I puff out a gust of warm air, as my nerves dissipate, and then I follow suit. I pay for my goods, and patiently watch as the cashier bags them. Thirty seconds later, I'm pulling open the door to the shop, met by bellows of deep voices and laughter.
Armani stands with his hand clutching at his stomach, trying to keep himself from toppling over in hysterics. His other hand is on the shoulder of this boy, that I apparently cannot get enough of today. I clear my throat and the both of them look towards me. Armani outstretches his palm, I dig around the black linen bag for his chocolate. I pass it to him, and he rips it open. His friend curiously stares between the two of us. I stare between the two of them. I acknowledge how comfortable they seem, the way Armani isn't as tense as he usually is around outsiders. Armani rips a chunk of his Snickers off with his teeth, munching slowly.
"Who's your friend?" I ask, surprising even myself. Armani continues to chew, smacking his lips and looking at me weirdly.
"Recks, her. Her, Recks. That's my baby sister," Armani introduces. He bites into his chocolate again, his cold stare unwavering and overflowing in curiosity, to know why I'm suddenly so anxious. I roll my eyes.
"My name is Dior," I correct him.
"Nehemiah," Nehemiah says, nodding his head slightly. I can't stop the shy smile that appears on my face. I'm not sure if it's because he told me his government name without me having to ask for it, or if it's because his government name is just as pretty as him. Armani scrunches up his face, eyes darting between the two of us. Nehemiah chuckles slightly, before he says, "Or Reckless."
"Cool," I say, and then I purse my lips and nod, like the awkward little shit I am. Cool, Dior?
"She's weird around new people, g. Air her," Armani says, with a shake of his head. I narrow my eyes at him.
"She's good," Nehemiah replies. I don't know what that means but it makes my stomach churn violently, nevertheless. I distract myself from their conversation, instead focusing on opening my drink without spilling it everywhere. "I never knew you man had another little sister."
"You would if you ever actually came about. Why you here today? I thought you didn't like leaving Bromley," Armani teases.
"We just finished moving to Bexley this morning, actually. I thought I mentioned it," Nehemiah says. When I look up at him, he's already looking back at me. I don't know whether he's going out of his way to make me feel nervous on purpose, but I wish he'd stop. Armani is slow, not blind.
"Oh word? Say less. Where you going now?" Armani asks.
"I was with Whiz and Rolo, they went to link some yats," Nehemiah scoffs lightly. "I was about to leave."
"Nah, come. Tigz and Sy are in KFC," Armani says. My head angles slightly, in confusion.
"How do you guys know each other?" I can't help but to ask. I've never seen him around before. Like, ever. I know I go out of my way to avoid all of Armani's friends, but I thought I'd come across all of them at least once.
"Four out of four," Armani says, pointing at Nehemiah slightly. My eyes widen, and then I quickly force myself to look unfazed. So Nehemiah is one of Armani's best friends. And I was preeing him like that. "Walk, Dior." I turn and lead the way back to KFC. Nehemiah and Armani hold a light conversation behind me, full of jokes and laughter, while I focus on not tripping over my feet. Every time he speaks, my stomach turns to mush and every time he laughs, it sends ripples down my spine. Something about him is extremely intimidating. I'm still trying to decide whether I like it or not.
When we get to KFC, I don't think there's a single person who doesn't address Nehemiah. There's verbal greetings and head nods and fist bumps and heavy stares with obscure meanings behind them. It makes me wonder who this guy actually is, and why I don't know him too. I'm out of the way but I'm not that out of the way. Why were they treating him like some sort of hood celeb? Is that what he is? Downstairs is more packed than we'd left it. The groups that had been in here seem to have been displaced by a completely different genre of people. I eventually leave Nehemiah and Armani behind, and join the others back at the table. I wordlessly sit back down, beside Tiegan, who side-eyes me suspiciously.
"Isn't that—"
"Yes," I cut her off. I take another sip from my drink. Armani sits down beside me and Nehemiah pulls a chair at the foot of the table. He sits down and his eyes instantly find mine. I silently pray that my chair will swallow me whole.
"No way. Reckless outside his yard? Are pigs flying?" Torin chuckles, extending his fist across the table and bumping it against Nehemiah's.
"Wagwan, Recks," Daniel greets him, too.
"Hey, Nehemiah," Chanel waves. She glances between him and I with this cheeky look in her eye. She raises an eyebrow, but I can only shake my head in response. Armani is still watching me like a hawk, I'm not trying to have him draw me out for ogling at his friend.
"Yo, yo, yo," Nehemiah chuckles, as he slips off his hoodie and slings it over the back of his chair, so he's left in his black t-shirt. I wish he'd kept it on.
"You know he just moved to Bexleyheath?" Armani questions. Daniel nods, but Torin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"Why would anyone wanna do that?" Tiegan chips in, louder than she'd intended to.
"Tiegan," I hiss, nudging her. She bares her teeth, awkwardly.
"Not that there's anything wrong with Bexleyheath," she corrects herself.
"That's my sister, Tiegan. Tiegan, Recks," Torin says. Tiegan nods her head, raising her eyebrows suggestively at me and I ignore her. "You shoulda told us, we would've helped you man move in."
"I didn't even help us move in. My pops got a crew and my marj was being bare aggy about where she wants stuff," Nehemiah says. He sits back in his seat and folds his arms. The muscles in his biceps bulge through his top and I take a moment to shamelessly admire them, as he speaks.
"What's your yard saying?" Armani asks.
"It's decent. You lot can come see it tomorrow," Nehemiah answers, with a shrug. His gaze finds mine again, briefly, before he looks back to Armani. I wonder what his deal is. If I'm reading too much into the looks, his tone, the fact that he called me pretty. He thinks I'm pretty. Or maybe he just says that.
"Yeah, calm. After we go Taze's though, I need a trim," Torin says. Taze is my uncle—my dad's younger brother—but also a popular barber in South London. He has three branches and a long list of clients, both regular and eminent.
"If I'd known I woulda gone tomorrow instead of today," Nehemiah says, and then he runs his hand through his freshly plaited hair. The conversation is halted, as a chair clatters against the floor across the room. The volume seems to dim slightly, as everyone turns their attention towards the ruckus. Two boys, or three, I can't really tell, seem to be going at it. I don't know if it's a joke or not, but their shoves are aggressive and the sound of their fists hitting one another bounces around the room. Tiegan squirms uncomfortably beside me, and Torin scoffs and rolls his eyes.
"Them man are gonna piss me the fuck off," he grumbles, snatching a napkin off the table and dusting his hands and then his mouth. "Let me call you man a cab home." Torin gestures between Chanel, Tiegan and I. I don't object, because this is no longer my scene. Besides, Tiegan's growing discomfort is a just a caution that her anxiety is about to flare.
"Don't fall asleep, I don't have my house key," Armani says, I slip mine out of my pocket and slap it into his palm.
"Do not lose it," I warn him sternly, but he doesn't make any promises.
"Okay, two minutes, let's go," Torin stands from his seat, ready to escort us to the door. Tiegan and I shuffle past Armani, briefly hugging him goodbye. I watch Chanel subtly warp her fingers with Daniel's as he lets her out of the booth, and gag when I grab their attention.
"In a bit, Daniel," I say, in a teasing manner. My body twists slightly, so I face Nehemiah, who looks up at me from where he is now sitting beside Armani, who'd scooted over into Tiegan's seat. I push aside my nerves and try to secrete the natural bashfulness in my voice. "It was nice to meet you, Nehemiah."
"You too, sweetness."
Sweetness?
I turn and walk away before he can gauge the delight on my face, but Tiegan sees it. She grins brightly at me as I meet her side and we follow Torin and Chanel out of the shop. "You too, sweetness," she mimics and I push her away from me, just so I don't have to hear her tease me about it any longer. As flattering as he is, I know nothing but his name. He didn't even ask for my details or anything. So, I tell myself he was just being a flirt, and push him from the forefront of my mind. He's one of those beautiful people that you know you'll encounter once, and then never again.
Dior Sinclair. I watch her approach the stairs, ascend them, and then disappear. Out of sight, and yet her face still lingers in my head like a mist. Her and her skittish smile. Her and her olive skin and her speckled eyes and her glazed lips. The way her cheeks would flush every time she caught me staring at her. I find that I have that effect on people. I make people nervous and it's always so blatantly obvious, but she wore it well. She smiled and it was sweet, not flirtatious. She spoke and her voice was like silk. Her words gentle and few, but it'd made me want to listen all the more closely. She didn't say much and it'd made me want to hear more. It's confusing to me. I don't know this girl from a can of paint. We met five minutes ago. Why am I still thinking about her if she's no longer in the room?
"Okay, Mr. Bitches." My eyes flit from the stairway and towards Loose, and the crumpled Snickers wrapper he's apparently seconds away from flicking at me. His jaw jerks forward and his eyes juggle between two different sizes as he stares at me, expectantly. I've known Loose, or Armani, since I was 11. Tigz and Syco, too. We've all been best friends ever since. I know I don't come around as much, and we usually spend our time doing hoodrat shit, but I'm a little shocked I didn't know Chanel isn't Armani's only sister. I didn't even know Torin had any sisters, at all. Although, Loose keeping her under lock and key makes sense, since she looks like that.
I know what Loose is like. He's protective, and territorial. I've seen it with Chanel. Shit, I've seen it with the rest of us. At times, he forgets that one, I'm his best friend and not his little brother, and two, I'm literally older than him. Only by a few months, but still. I respect him. If he asked me not to move his sister, I wouldn't. But I've met her now, so that's sounding pretty mythical. "Hellooo. Reckless! What the fuck was that?" I glance at the barren stairs, and back to Loose, shuffling slightly in my seat.
"What was what?"
"You too, sweetness," Syco teases, from across the table. I tilt my head in confusion. Knowing what I know about he and Chanel—since he can't seem to shut up about her—you'd think he'd keep from taking the piss out of me. Their hands had been awfully busy the whole time I was down here. If we're drawing people out.
"Why are you man on me?" I chuckle. Loose draws back in his seat, flattening his palm against his chest. "I was just being nice."
"You don't call me 'sweetness'," he counters, shrugging expressively, and Sy snickers. I shake my head, although I can't help but to laugh. I know what he wants me to admit, but I'm not going to.
"What, you feeling Dior?" Sy questions. He folds his arms and leans onto the table. The smirk on his face tells me he already has an idea of what my answer will be. Loose impatiently waits for me to say something, glaring at me through beady eyes.
"She's pretty," I shrug.
"I'm gonna be sick," Loose replies, turning away from me and towards the wall. Sy and I both laugh at his dramatics. She is pretty, very pretty. And not the type of pretty all the girls around here are. It's an angelic kind of beauty, a soft type of pretty. All her features shone, and at first I'd owed it to the sunlight, but even down here her whole profile was aglow. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her, for some reason.
"You guys were bare eyeing each other," Sy comments, I know better than to deny it. She couldn't hold eye contact for longer than a second, but I don't know whether that's because of how shy she is, or because of her brother.
"'Cause she's pretty," I respond. Loose snaps his head in my direction.
"Nigga, are you for real blushing right now? Like, what the fuck?" He says, dramatically. I kiss my teeth and Sy laughs.
"Fuck off, man," I chuckle. Across the room, the group of boys being rowdy jump a volume louder. The three of us glance in their direction, and then back to each other. I try to ignore them, but the less tolerant half of me is ready to get the fuck out of here. I know most of these people by face, some by name, but it doesn't mean that I like them. I'm not in a friendly mood and my social battery is running out. The fact that they aren't getting any quieter seems to make it deplete even faster.
"You gonna move her?"
"Wallahi he's not," Loose butts in, causing Sy and I to laugh. Tigz appears on the stairs, jogging down them with ease and sidestepping a few people until he's back at the table. I move the chair that I'd sat on out of his way and he nods his head.
"Thanks, sweetness," he says, setting off Syco's laughter all over again. I roll my eyes and ignore him. "Recks and Dior, yeah? Who would've thought?"
"Reckless, do not move to my sister. She's not your type," Loose says. And I mentally agree. She isn't my type. She isn't built like the girls I find myself dealing with. She doesn't have that ratchet edge to her, like the girls I usually attract do. She didn't make a move on me once. And if she did find me attractive, she did a good job at not letting it show. She doesn't correlate with any of the girls I have history with, that alone should put me off her. I don't know why it's doing the complete opposite.
"What was it that you said to me? You can't get in the way of love, some shit like that I swear?" Tigz directs his question towards Loose, with a smirk plastered across his face.
"I was like, 13."
"And you're still pursuing Tiegs to this day. Let the lovers love," Tigz continues, and for a second, I'm sure Loose will leap across the table and rip him to shreds.
"I didn't say all that. You can relax, Bruce Banner. All I said, is that she's pretty," I chuckle, patting Loose's shoulder. He rolls his eyes and shrugs me off.
"I give him a week before he's in her messages," Sy says.
"Three days, g. Respect him," Tigz shoots back.
"They're just tryna piss you off," I say, laughing at the disgusted look on Loose's face. Besides, they were both wrong. By tomorrow, I'll have her number in my phone. She got me with her looks, and the aura that she carries. I have to see for myself what she's really about.
"Can we stop talking about Dior, before I cut off my fucking ears?" Loose snaps.
"Fine," I oblige. "But how come I've never met her?" In my head, I'm a very sociable person. It's in instances like these that I realise that I'm not. I'm baking off at home eighty percent of the time, unless they manage to convince me to do otherwise, and that usually takes a lot.
"Let's see. You never come out, you never go to anyone's yard, you're a bit of a prick so if you did ever meet her you probably would've scared her off anyway, you—"
"Loose, leave me the fuck alone," I interject, and he raises his hands in defense. There was only some truth to his statements. For one, I do come out, just not as much as the rest of them. And if I'd ever come across Dior, I'm sure I wouldn't have forgotten her.
"She never really comes outside, either. Plus, we do not have the same friends," Tigz chuckles.
"Yeah. And she's in the year below," Sy adds.
"Well," I lay my phone against the table and mindlessly draw patterns across the blank screen. "Does she have a man?" Loose snorts, and then he and Tigz begin laughing.
"Does she look like she chats to man?" Sy jokes. "She's timid."
"That's not even the point, have you met Valentino?" Loose intercedes.
Tigz scoffs, with a shake of his head, "Yeah, Scarz does not play that boyfriend shit. At all." I purse my lips. I'd known Scarz, or Valentino, the longest, even longer than I'd known these man. He's the big brother I'd never had. He's like my junior father figure. Now, if he said I couldn't chat to Dior, I may actually listen. But what he doesn't know won't necessarily hurt him, and subsequently me.
"Is that why she's so shy with man? 'Cause she never had a boyfriend?"
"Oh, she has had a boyfriend. You don't remember TS?" Sy questions. I frown, as several different people come to mind. And then I have a brief flashback of the sole of my shoe connecting with his head.
"What, my man that we jumped last year?" I guess.
"And I'd do it again. He's a patty," Loose grins.
"He's got to be the dumbest nigga I ever met in my life," Sy adds, shaking his head.
"What did he do? Why did we jump him?" I ask. Tigz narrows his eyes at me.
"You fucked him up and you never thought to ask us why?" He asks. My face contorts, because I'm unsure why that should've mattered to me.
"He was bragging to the elders about fucking Dior," Sy answers me. I raise an eyebrow, in split shock and confusion. A fleeting feeling of possessiveness racks at my brain before I brush it off. Someone as pretty and tender as her with a clown like him didn't make much sense to me. We g-checked him and he wet himself. I'd picture her with someone a little more like me, and I ain't ever met anyone like me.
"He fucked Dior? Him?"
"He was capping," Tigz says.
"And that's what makes him a dumb ass nigga. He didn't know Dior and Scarz were related. And of all niggas to lie to, Mental and Snow," Loose says, scoffing loudly. The deep arch of his eyebrows and the layered wrinkle between them indicates just how angered he is by the memory alone.
"Mental? As in, your cousin?" I look to Sy, and he nods. "And Snow? Mental and Snow, from 6ix?" The three of them nod, I blow out a slightly pitiful breath. 6ix is the gang that Scarz bangs for, as well as both of Tigz's elder brothers and Syco's elder cousin. There are only six members. The last six niggas on ends you'd want to fall out with. I don't know their origin, or how they came to be, but they're my elders. I've witnessed some of the shit they've done. Nobody proudly opposes them, unless they're actively seeking death. And from 6ix came HRB. A ring of scamming, drug-dealing, money-making hoodlums, recruited by the members of 6ix themselves.
And from HRB came the four of us, with the public appointed nickname, 4/4.
"Tino just shouted me," Loose says, his phone rests in one hand while the other fiddles with his braids. "He got some packs for us. He said we should go to Benji's mo."
"How long is it gonna take us to get rid of all that?" Tigz sighs.
"For Benji and his guys? Two hours, max. They smoke like chimneys," Sy answers, with a shudder.
"As long as we get the fuck outta here, I don't care where we're going," I mutter. I'm sure my irritation is prominent on my face, as much as I try to conceal it. The rowdiness around us has pushed me to my limit, so it's time for me to leave before they provoke me to do something about it. The four of us rise from where we'd sat. I slip my arms back through the sleeves of my hoodie, Sy and Tigz inch towards the stairs. Loose rests against the table and watches me, silently. I side-eye him, and ask, "What?"
"Dior. Don't move to her," he says. His eyes are narrowed and there's not a trace of banter across his face, and yet, I still can't bring myself to take him seriously. I mentally brush him off.
"I don't plan to," I lie. But in the vagueness of my words, I'm sure he grasps that if something was to happen, I wouldn't go out of my way to stop it.
"You're fucking annoying," he huffs, I laugh. The two of us make our way towards Tigz and Sy, squeezing past the people in our way, and around misplaced chairs. I pause, as I let two people bypass me, and continue shuffling forward. When I look away from the back of Loose's head, and towards the heated game of Uno across the room, my shoulder is roughly jolted. My head whips back in the direction of my aggressor. My eyes flit between my shoulder and the light-skinned boy still trying to get past me. I look at all the space he had, to move around without touching me, and my face instantly sours.
"Yo, are you fucking dense?" I snap. Immediately, the people around us quieten. Loose turns back in my direction, but my focus remains levelled on the boy who'd barged past me. He turns in his spot. His mouth is curled in frustration, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is locked and firm. I can see his foul mood etched across his face, and the intimidation he's trying so hard to emit. His head leans to the right, and he looks me up and down.
"Who the fuck are you speaking to like that?" He sneers. My eyebrows raise in surprise, at the sharpness of his tone. I ask myself if I know this boy. If I recognise the long, greasy braids, pimpled skin, struggling facial hair and braced teeth. I don't. So I assume his successful attempts to provoke me are simply for attention, or a little bit of clout, that I'm surely about to give him.
"I beg your pardon?" I subconsciously step towards him, and the room grows eerily silent. Just like that. People wait for the inevitable swing that my hand is already premeditating. The boy's face contorts, and he screws me, again.
"Don't step to man, are you skunked—" His hands press against my shoulders and he pushes me backwards. I remain rooted in my place. My palm opens, and then fists. I draw back and swing. My clenched mitt drives towards his face. My knuckles creak on impact, but you can't hear it over the pain-stricken yelp that leaves his mouth. I can feel Loose's hand curl around my bicep, pulling me away from the scene, before it can escalate into a fight, and I let him. What a weirdo. I don't know why people do that. Especially when they know who I am, what I'm like, how I behave. People wanna beef me just so they can say that they beef me.
"Yo, what just happened?" Tigz frowns, as Loose pushes me past the two of them. We ascend the stairs, when I glance over my shoulder, the boy is still stood in the same place, hand clutching at his cheek and eyes trained on me, darkened with anger. He disappears from my sight as we round the corner, and I face my front.
"Don't ask me," I mutter, looking towards my aching hand. I roll my eyes. This is beginning to happen to me a bit too often, it's almost as if these bruises are tattooed on my hands. Niggas won't stop provoking me and I can't seem to stop giving them the reactions that they long for. "I don't know why he wanted to beef me so bad."
"I think we know him," Loose frowns, gnawing at his bottom lip as he quietly thinks to himself. Upstairs, KFC is practically empty. There's still crumbs of food and empty boxes strewn across the floor. The worker behind the cashier leans against the countertop on his phone, in no rush to clean it all up. He only glances at us briefly, before going back to what he was doing. The four of us move towards the door and step outside, single file.
"Recks, you can stop scowling now," Sy says, nudging at my shoulder. I roll my eyes.
"Where's our ride?" I ask. On cue, Tigz's phone buzzes in his hand and a black SUV rolls to a halt in front of us. Tigz pulls open the door and clambers in first, Sy follows. I palm the door handle and step aside, Loose gets in, I step in after and pull the door shut behind me.
"Kenzo," Loose says, snapping his fingers. The three of us look towards him. "That's the boy's name, that's Kenzo. He goes OV."
"Yeah well, he's a fucking weirdo," I grumble. I look towards KFC, as the driver pulls away from the curb and into the short queue of traffic. I erase the altercation from my mind, hoping—for the both of our sakes—that I don't run into him again.