it. I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does. It’s like Jay doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the important stuff. Like she thinks I’m too young to handle it.
I handled her being gone for years. I can handle more than she thinks.
She parks in our driveway behind Trey’s old Honda Civic, then turns toward me, but I look out my window.
Okay, maybe I am a little bit immature. Whatever.
“I know you’re worried,” she says. “Things have been tough for a while. But it’s gonna get better. Somehow, someway. We gotta believe that, baby.”
She reaches for my cheek.
I move away and open my door. “I’m going for a walk.”
Jay grabs my arm. “Brianna, wait.”
I’m shaking. Here I am, worried about real problems, and she wants me to “believe”? “Please, let me go.”
“No. I’m not letting you run instead of talk to me. Today’s been a lot, baby.”
“I’m fine.”
She runs her thumb along my arm, like she’s trying to coax the tears out of me. “No, you’re not. It’s okay if you’re not. You do know you don’t have to be strong all the time, right?”
Maybe not all the time, but I have to be right now. I tug away from her. “I’m fine.”
“Brianna—”
I throw my hoodie over my head and march down the sidewalk.
Sometimes I dream that I’m drowning. It’s always in a big, blue ocean that’s too deep for me to see the bottom. But I tell myself I’m not going to die no matter how much water gets in my lungs or how deep I sink, I am not going to die. Because I say so.
Suddenly, I can breathe underwater. I can swim. The ocean isn’t so scary anymore. It’s actually kinda cool. I even learn how to control it.
But I’m awake, I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to control any of this.
Six
The Maple Grove projects are a whole different world.
I live on the east side of the Garden, where the houses are nicer, the homeowners are older, and the gunshots aren’t as frequent. The Maple Grove projects are a fifteen-minute walk away on the west side, or as Grandma calls it, “that ol’ rough side.” It’s on the news more, and so many of the houses look like nobody should live in them. But it’s kinda like saying one side of the Death Star is safer than the other. It’s still the goddamn Death Star.
At Maple Grove, six three-story buildings sit close enough to the freeway that Aunt Pooh says they used to go on the rooftops and throw rocks at the cars. Badasses. There was a seventh building, but it burned down a few years ago and instead of rebuilding it, the state tore it down. Now there’s a grassy field in its place where kids go play. The playground is for junkies.
“Whaddup, Li’l Law,” a guy shouts from inside a raggedy car as I cross the parking lot. Never seen him in my life, but I wave. I’ll always be my dad’s daughter if nothing else.
He should be here. Maybe if he was, I wouldn’t be wondering how we’re gonna make it since Jay doesn’t have a job.
I swear, we can never just be “good.” Something always happens. Either we barely got food or this thing got shut off. It’s. Always. Something.
We can’t have any power, either. I mean, think about it. All these people I’ve never met have way more control over my life than I’ve ever had. If some Crown hadn’t killed my dad, he’d be a big rap star and money wouldn’t be an issue. If some drug dealer hadn’t sold my mom her first hit, she could’ve gotten her degree already and would have a good job. If that cop hadn’t murdered that boy, people wouldn’t have rioted, the daycare wouldn’t have burned down, and the church wouldn’t have let Jay go.
All these folks I’ve never met became gods over my life. Now I gotta take the power back.
I’m hoping Aunt Pooh knows how.
A boy zooms toward me on a dirt bike wearing a Celtics jersey with a hoodie underneath, clear beads on his braids. He hits the brakes just inches away from me. Inches.
“Boy, I swear if you would’ve hit me,” I say.
Jojo snickers. “I wasn’t gon’ hit you.”
Jojo can’t be any more than ten. He lives with his momma in the apartment right above Aunt Pooh’s. He makes it his business to speak to me every time I’m over here. Aunt Pooh thinks he has a