Page 17 of Loyalty, Lust, Love

“That nigga is weird.”

“No weirder than Shyla.”

“Nah, I can’t let you do her like that. She has some weird shit about her, but she came to support the person who lost their father. That nigga is here to support the friend of the person who lost their father, and that makes no damn sense.”

They laughed at Cornell’s expense. “I guess you have a point. He actually bought a card and signed our names because he didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

“You really like that lame ass nigga?”

“Do you really like Shyla?” she countered.

Lynx changed the subject because he didn’t want to talk about Shyla or Cornell.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?”

“When we used to sneak off to the treehouse and hide for hours.”

She smiled at the memory. The treehouse was their solace, and they spent more time there than they did inside their homes. “Yeah, when life wasn’t so complex.”

“Shit, at the time we thought it was. We had no idea the future would prove us wrong.”

“Seriously. I’d do anything to go back to the complexities of middle and high school.”

Another bout of silence filled the pantry as they reflected on moments from their childhood.

“Do you remember the promise we made?” he asked.

“We made a lot of promises.”

“You know what promise I’m talking about.”

“Why don’t you remind me?”

Chapter 7

Flashback - Eighth Grade Graduation Day

By the end of their eighth-grade year, the duo had allowed a few others to enter their realm. Lynx was still quietly observant, and Fateema was still an overzealous chatterbox, but they managed to form a few solid friendships. Lynx and Fateema’s bond remained the strongest of them all. The two spent so much time together that their fathers even became close friends.

“What’s wrong?” Fateema asked Lynx when she found him in the treehouse, sitting on her gigantic bean bag.

“Nothing.”

“Something is wrong, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

She sat next to him in silence and waited patiently for him to tell her what was wrong. Eventually, he always did.

“At my old school, they used to tell my mom that if I didn’t get my act together, I wouldn’t graduate from eighth grade,” he finally shared.

“Well, they were wrong.”

“Sometimes, I wasn’t sure, but my mom always knew they were wrong.”

“She was right.”

“Yeah, but she’s not here to see me.”