dark brown. He pulled the covers over his head.
Emako yelled from her room, “I just got home from church! I gotta change my clothes!”
Dante groaned again and turned over.
I stood at the door and watched my daddy’s car as it drove away.
Verna came back in the house. “I was making hot links and scrambled eggs. Have some?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Blue. I already ate.”
“What’d I tell you ’bout callin’ me Mrs. Blue?”
“Verna.”
“That’s better.”
Emako came into the living room. She was dressed in low-rider jeans and a white shirt. “C’mon,” she said to me.
“Where y’all goin’?” Verna asked.
“Burger King. I gotta pick up my check. We’ll be right back. C’mon, Monterey.”
I followed her outside. The old man who lived next door was cutting his lawn with a push mower, and clumps of green grass lay on the sidewalk.
“You saw Dante,” she said.
“Yeah, I saw him.”
“His wound’s infected, so my mama’s been waitin’ on him hand and foot like he’s some kinda invalid, which he’s not. I’ll be glad when he gets well so he can get up outta my mama’s house.”
“Where’s he gonna go?”
“I dunno, away . . . before he brings more trouble.”
We walked to the corner and crossed the street.
“I got a tattoo.” I rolled up my sleeve and showed her the vine of ivy that circled my upper arm.
“When?”
“Last Saturday. I took the bus to Venice, by myself.”
“By yourself?” Emako paused. “Your mama’s gonna kick your butt.”
“It wears off in three weeks,” I said.
“Henna?”
“Yeah.”
“Your mama’s still gonna kick your butt.”
“Not like she needs to see me naked,” I said.
“Monterey?”
“That’s my name,” I replied.
“I know you are not tryin’ to get funky with me.”
“I can and I did.”
“So it’s like that. One tattoo and a trip to Venice Beach and you grown?”
“I’m grown.”
“A’ight then,” she said, and smiled as we entered Burger King.
Emako headed toward the small office while I waited in front. I looked at the tattoo again and thought, I am grown. Almost.
She returned with her check, waving it like it was a hundred-dollar bill.
“C’mon.” She motioned and we headed back out onto the streets. The sun was shining. The sky was blue.
We turned the corner toward her house. Dante was on the porch with three brothers.
“See what I mean?”
I did. “Yeah.”
“But you can’t tell my mama nuthin’. ‘He’s still my child,’ is what she says. ‘He’s still my child,’ over and over again.”
We walked up the path to the front door.
“Baby sis,” Dante said, and smiled. He was fine, but one of his front teeth was missing, looking like a black hole in his mouth.
The skin on the back of my neck stood up.
“Miz Emako . . . all grown up . . . ain’t you fine,” one of the brothers said, looking us both over from head to foot. “And who’s your cute little friend?” All four of them laughed.
“Get out my way, J.T.,” Emako snarled.
“Oh, it’s like that?” J.T. snarled back.
“Yeah, it’s like that,” Emako replied.
Finally, Dante spoke up. “Leave the superstar and her little friend alone.”
“Superstar!” they said in unison.
Emako pushed the door open and we went inside. “Mama, I thought he was supposed to be laying low. I mean, if he’s well enough to walk outside and kick it with his gangstas, then he’s well enough to get up outta here.”
“He’s still my child,” was her mother’s reply. “Y ’all hungry?”
“No, we’re not hungry. C’mon, Monterey.”
We went into her room and she closed the door. “Can’t even have a normal life with him around. I gotta get outta here.”
“You will.”
“Yeah”—she took a deep breath—“I will.” After a while she said, “Me and Jamal spozed to go to City Walk tonight. You wanna come? Maybe Eddie can come too.”
“Yeah, but I gotta call my daddy,” I replied.
She grinned at me.
Emako yelled from her room, “I just got home from church! I gotta change my clothes!”
Dante groaned again and turned over.
I stood at the door and watched my daddy’s car as it drove away.
Verna came back in the house. “I was making hot links and scrambled eggs. Have some?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Blue. I already ate.”
“What’d I tell you ’bout callin’ me Mrs. Blue?”
“Verna.”
“That’s better.”
Emako came into the living room. She was dressed in low-rider jeans and a white shirt. “C’mon,” she said to me.
“Where y’all goin’?” Verna asked.
“Burger King. I gotta pick up my check. We’ll be right back. C’mon, Monterey.”
I followed her outside. The old man who lived next door was cutting his lawn with a push mower, and clumps of green grass lay on the sidewalk.
“You saw Dante,” she said.
“Yeah, I saw him.”
“His wound’s infected, so my mama’s been waitin’ on him hand and foot like he’s some kinda invalid, which he’s not. I’ll be glad when he gets well so he can get up outta my mama’s house.”
“Where’s he gonna go?”
“I dunno, away . . . before he brings more trouble.”
We walked to the corner and crossed the street.
“I got a tattoo.” I rolled up my sleeve and showed her the vine of ivy that circled my upper arm.
“When?”
“Last Saturday. I took the bus to Venice, by myself.”
“By yourself?” Emako paused. “Your mama’s gonna kick your butt.”
“It wears off in three weeks,” I said.
“Henna?”
“Yeah.”
“Your mama’s still gonna kick your butt.”
“Not like she needs to see me naked,” I said.
“Monterey?”
“That’s my name,” I replied.
“I know you are not tryin’ to get funky with me.”
“I can and I did.”
“So it’s like that. One tattoo and a trip to Venice Beach and you grown?”
“I’m grown.”
“A’ight then,” she said, and smiled as we entered Burger King.
Emako headed toward the small office while I waited in front. I looked at the tattoo again and thought, I am grown. Almost.
She returned with her check, waving it like it was a hundred-dollar bill.
“C’mon.” She motioned and we headed back out onto the streets. The sun was shining. The sky was blue.
We turned the corner toward her house. Dante was on the porch with three brothers.
“See what I mean?”
I did. “Yeah.”
“But you can’t tell my mama nuthin’. ‘He’s still my child,’ is what she says. ‘He’s still my child,’ over and over again.”
We walked up the path to the front door.
“Baby sis,” Dante said, and smiled. He was fine, but one of his front teeth was missing, looking like a black hole in his mouth.
The skin on the back of my neck stood up.
“Miz Emako . . . all grown up . . . ain’t you fine,” one of the brothers said, looking us both over from head to foot. “And who’s your cute little friend?” All four of them laughed.
“Get out my way, J.T.,” Emako snarled.
“Oh, it’s like that?” J.T. snarled back.
“Yeah, it’s like that,” Emako replied.
Finally, Dante spoke up. “Leave the superstar and her little friend alone.”
“Superstar!” they said in unison.
Emako pushed the door open and we went inside. “Mama, I thought he was supposed to be laying low. I mean, if he’s well enough to walk outside and kick it with his gangstas, then he’s well enough to get up outta here.”
“He’s still my child,” was her mother’s reply. “Y ’all hungry?”
“No, we’re not hungry. C’mon, Monterey.”
We went into her room and she closed the door. “Can’t even have a normal life with him around. I gotta get outta here.”
“You will.”
“Yeah”—she took a deep breath—“I will.” After a while she said, “Me and Jamal spozed to go to City Walk tonight. You wanna come? Maybe Eddie can come too.”
“Yeah, but I gotta call my daddy,” I replied.
She grinned at me.
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