Page 9

. . .

“Get up, Malik,” she called, without looking in his direction. “I ain’t raising no man who sleeps through the day.”

He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before dragging himself out of bed.

His socks slid across the hardwood floor as he walked into the kitchen, shirtless, hair wild.

Anthony, his pops, was already sitting at the table in his robe with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. He nodded toward Malik without a word.

“Morning,” Malik mumbled.

Anthony grunted back. “Sun been up. You too comfortable.”

Malik cracked an egg into the buttered skillet and fried it with quiet precision. His mama paused her mopping just long enough to kiss his cheek and then smacked him with the back of her hand for leaving dishes in the sink last night.

“You look tired, baby,” she said.

He just shrugged, because he was tired. A long night of coding and chilling with Aku had him sluggish this morning, after a restless night, when he was usually up before the birds.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, not in a love-struck way, but in a real way.

She was easy to be around - funny…sharp.

And she ain’t make him feel like he had to be anyone else.

That was rare for him. Most people either needed something from him or looked at him like he was the sum of his hustle.

She didn’t seem phased by none of that, didn’t ask too many questions either… just vibed.

Now that he was back in his routine, the contrast of their lives hit him. He kept replaying her voice in his head, the way she cracked jokes, how she lit up when she laughed. He wasn’t trying to read into it. But something about her stuck.

He flipped the egg, let it sit for a second, then reached for the hot sauce. His pops looked up from the paper for a moment, then went back to reading.

“Where’s Gran?” Malik asked when he didn’t notice Gran Betty sitting in her usual spot.

Anthony kept his face in the paper. “Went to the nail salon or something.”

“And left me,” Myesa added, still cleaning.

Anthony tapped her ass making her giggle a little.

As he sat at the table to eat, Malik wondered if his dad ever felt like this when he first met his mama.

Like someone had walked in and shifted something that had been still for too long.

He wasn’t used to anyone shifting his world—he kept his life compartmentalized on purpose.

But Aku showed up in a way he wasn’t expecting, and now his brain was moving different.

He pushed the thought aside and focused on the plate in front of him. He had work to do. Codes to check. Deliveries to prep. Life to handle. But even with all that waiting on him, Aku kept crossing his mind.

After breakfast, he threw on a hoodie and stepped outside into the Crescent.

The sun hadn’t fully risen, but the block was already alive.

Lil kids chased each other down the sidewalk barefoot, their mamas yelling from porches.

A group of teenagers crowded the corner, laughing loud and talking about music.

A few OGs were already parked on lawn chairs out front, watching everything like always.

This was home and even when he didn’t always feel safe, it was easier to deal with what he knew than to try to fit into a world he didn’t know.

“Yo Key!” one of the boys across the street called. “Come throw the ball!”

Malik jogged over, grabbing a half-deflated football and launching it down the street. The boys laughed as they ran to catch it. One of them, maybe 10 years old, ran up and asked, “You ever played for real?”

“Nah,” Malik said, “Just the streets.”

“Bet I could still beat you.”

Malik laughed, shaking his head. “Keep dreaming, cuh.”

Two girls walking by slowed down when they saw him. One of them twisted her curls and smiled. “Hey Key…”

“What’s good?” he nodded, but didn’t say much else. He wasn’t the type to entertain more than a hello if it didn’t involve sex.

Just then, a group of older dudes from the next block pulled up on bikes. They slapped hands doing their little crip handshake, trading updates.

“Yo, we ran into them Blood niggas over by the liquor store,” one of them said. “They ain’t do nothin’, just a bunch of talkin’.”

Malik stayed posted on the edge of the sidewalk, listening without adding much. Crescent business was his business, even if he kept his hands clean these days, he always needed to be up on what was happening in the hood.

They blabbed more about crip shit and how much they hated the boys they should’ve been in school with and making friends with. Malik hated it but felt too much like a hypocrite to tell them that. Yea, he had his hands in more clean shit but still his heart bled blue.

After a while, he headed back home. His Pops was watching a western on TV and his Mama was folding towels.

“Come ride with me,” Anthony said suddenly. “Store run.”

Malik nodded, going back out the door with his Pops following him. The summer was coming to an end so it seemed the kids were doing more shit they had no business doing, just to trade stories when they were back in school.

They rode in silence for a few blocks before Anthony spoke. “Your Mama said you been quiet lately.”

“I’m workin’,” Malik muttered.

“I know, but that ain’t what I asked.”

Malik kept his eyes on the road. “You didn’t ask nothin’.”

“You got that habit I had too. Thinking you gotta hold everything by yourself.”

Malik didn’t respond, just shifted in his seat.

Anthony looked over at him when they pulled up to the store. It was just a small mom and pops shop but the hood loved it. It was neutral territory too. No one did much if they ran into their opp there. It was a safe spot like a game of hide and seek—it was the base.

“You know you’re loved, right, son?”

Malik let his father’s question linger for a few seconds before he said, “yea.”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure you knew.”

Malik pulled into his partner’s driveway and the sun didn’t even ease the tightness in his chest. No matter how nice the day was or how many pills he tossed back, stopping by Pharaoh’s house never got easier, but there would never be a time when he didn’t stop by.

A deep sigh pulled his chest in as his eyes surveyed the house. It was decent— similar to the one story house he resided in. The grass was splotchy, making him tuck a mental note in his head about getting someone to come see about it.

Malik leaned back in his seat, his eyes aching since lack of sleep seemed to be finally catching up with him. Days with barely any sleep and nights full of coding wasn’t what kept him up though. Pharaoh and that fucked up night did…guilt did.

The block was still the same. Just streets over from his own house, the kids and women looked identical to the ones over his way. This block still repped blue— children wore it on their bodies and the women went as far as weaving it in their hair.

A small smile creased his lips thinking about it. He loved his people. That was certain.

“You good?” he said out loud to himself, checking the Glock tucked beneath the seat. Crescent Park was home, but enemies sometimes encroached on your home to settle old beefs. When you’d knocked on the devil’s door, you had to expect for him to come back and collect his due.

With Plugged In, Malik had respect from all sides— from most people.

Still…respect didn’t make you bulletproof or make your enemies forget the time you walked their dead homie down.

His lanky legs stepped out, locking the car behind him with one sharp click.

His shoulders rolled back naturally. Loose, but still alert.

The gold stud in his ear caught the sunlight and Malik’s freshly touched up braids, thanks to a stylist he found on the app.

He sported his usual blue tee and dark denim jeans with Chuck Taylors on his feet. The hood uniform—but elevated.

He walked up to the side door and tapped the beat they used to do back in high school.

Three knocks. A pause. Two more knocks.

A long minute passed before the door creaked open.

Quesha kissed her teeth with a roll of her eyes, but Pharoah’s voice pulled his attention into the house.

“’Bout time, nigga,” a slow, garbled voice called from inside.

Malik smiled, but his chest pulled tight. “Shut up. I’m here, ain’t I?”

He stepped inside. It smelled like Lysol and weed. The fan rotated in the corner, doing more spinning than cooling.

Pharoah’s sister Quesha had been the one to pull the door open.

Of course she had on coochie cutter shorts that left little to the imagination.

Her shirt was cropped, showing her stomach that let the world know she’d given birth.

It all made Malik’s head spin because once upon a time, she had held his young heart in her hands.

Pulling his eyes from her ass, Malik smiled at Pharaoh.

On the couch, slouched low in his usual spot, Pharaoh’s lips curled as best they could.

A gunshot to the spine-- his C3, had left him paralyzed since the ripe age of eighteen. Wrong place…wrong time, still – he was alive, and different. The kind of different that made people disappear, but not Malik…never Malik.

Malik owed him his life, so he’d never be able to leave his right hand behind. Malik had even taken on Pharoah’s expenses—bills, therapy, clothes, food—whatever his boy needed, he gave freely.

Pharaoh’s words came out slow, mouth half-stuck in a permanent twist, but his mind was still sharp. He wore a muscle shirt with a gold chain sitting on his chest like a trophy from a past life. His legs were tucked under a thick blanket, even though it was eighty-something degrees out.

“Whatchu…bring?” Pharaoh asked, lips fighting to form each word.

Malik dropped a small black bag on the table. “You got Pink Runtz, Blue Guava, and them Koko Cookies you was whining about.”

Pharaoh tried to laugh. It came out like a wheeze. “You the plug, not…my…bitch,” he said, straining.

Malik sat down beside him, head dropping back against the couch. “You right, but you the only client who can call me bitching and shit without catching a fade.”

They shared a moment of silence. Pharaoh sparked up one of the pre-rolls Malik brought. It took him a second, but he got it.

Malik watched the smoke curl up toward the fan, his phone back in his hand thinking about Aku’s smart mouth.

“Stylistbae,” Pharaoh said suddenly, like it slipped out his throat before he could think. He’d been peeking over into Malik’s phone.

Malik’s brow raised. “Huh?”

Pharaoh sucked his teeth slow. “You…smiling…girl text you.”

Malik smirked, shaking his head. “Nigga, you all in my business.”

“Who…is she?”

He thought about lying. But Pharaoh could keep secrets—he kept his secrets.

“Girl I met by some weird ass chance encounter. Got a mouth on her but she bad as hell,” Malik muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I ain’t think nothin’ of it at first. Then…

I saw the way she looked at me with those pretty cat eyes and button nose.

It was like seeing the world for the first time. ”

Pharaoh blinked hard, face twitching as he tried to form his next words. “The world,” he said—it came out like the world had become some mythical place. “You… text her?”

Malik twisted the phone towards Pharaoh to give his nosy ass a better look.

“We been messaging through the app all day today.” He read some of the messages out loud, letting Pharaoh hear her words. “I pulled up the other night to serve her and her people.”

Pharaoh wheezed another laugh. “She…funny.”

Malik stared at her last text, thumb hovering over the keyboard thinking about his response. “I ain’t flirted like this in a minute. Not for real,” he said. He wanted to say more but then Quesha eased past them being nosy. Malik could always tell when she was eavesdropping.

Pharaoh’s tone dipped, pulling Malik back to their conversation. “Don’t…fuck it up.”

Malik looked at him sideways. “Damn, that’s your advice?”

Pharaoh shrugged the one shoulder he had good control over. “You…fuck up…good things.”

Malik looked down. He couldn’t even argue his case.

He had a habit of letting the best parts of his life rot before he ever watered ‘em. Guilt stayed close…regret closer.

“She different,” Malik said quietly. “She got a daddy.” He knew because finding out information on Aku wasn’t hard.

With just a quick social media dive, her page was flooded with all the people she loved—her daddy being in the top spot.

“She comes from money, got that own the world attitude. She probably used to dating rich corny niggas with trust funds and skincare routines. I’m the complete opposite. ”

“Maybe…she tired…of corny,” Pharaoh said.

Malik chuckled. “Maybe, I don’t know if I should see.”

Just then Quesha stomped past again with a deep huff, begging for his attention but Quesha knew like Malik did, that was a road he would never travel again. Too much had happened. Shit that altered people’s lives for forever. So, his attention, she couldn’t get…not now or ever.

Malik and Pharaoh sat in silence…a silence that only old friends could share – one where the air didn’t need filling, just honoring.

Pharaoh eventually broke it. “Text…her back.”

Malik hesitated, but when he looked over to his friend who couldn’t live life as a whole person, he responded, even if only just to please Pharoah.

Key : Noted. Friendly only for me.

He stared at it, sent it, then double replied because Aku already had his fingers and mind moving too damn fast.

Key : Something ‘bout you feel familiar. You feel like you got secrets, but I’d listen to all of ‘em.

He hit send before he could think too hard, then locked his phone and tossed it on the table like it didn’t matter.

Pharaoh smirked. “Damn…you down bad...already?”

Malik grinned. “Yea, but it feel good, though.”

“I…get…that,” Pharaoh’s voice turned serious. “Roll…that…before...”

Malik laughed. “I got you, nigga.”

He reached for the table to grab a wrap and stuff it with weed. He no longer smoked and preferred a different kind of high - one that came in a pill bottle with Pharaoh’s name on it. That and a cold beer or a shot of brown was enough to keep Malik’s demons away.

As if he needed something heavier to help ease his mind, his phone chirped from a new notification. He picked it up to see another message from Aku.

StylistBae: Familiar, huh? Pull up on me then.

His yellow skin flushed red. “Let me hurry up so I can see what this girl on.”

Pharaoh’s lip curled as he did his best to nod his head in understanding.

Key: You’re a lady…I’m gon’ treat you like it. Come to me.