Keys did.”
A few guys followed him, cracking up. Ashton, all the way near the door, shook his head, hiding his face. I was in the middle, allowing the shot they insisted on me taking to flow through my system. I was such a damn lightweight. And I was in the middle of all these Panthers, trying to be invisible on this near-hour drive.
“Six Grammys and counting, including that one, nigga.” Dre’s words got underneath Al’s skin from sounds of that.
These guys could be brutal, going at each other. At the start of the ride, one of the basketball players was counting up how many times two of his teammates were diagnosed with STDs. In their faces. It was insane. No fists or threats were thrown. I was grateful—uncomfortable, but grateful—for the absence of violence. The three least vocal people on the bus were me, Ashton, and DJ Paulie. Apparently, he was typically the designated driver because he hardly drank, and didn’t participate in the pre-sip activities. It was clear to me they gathered often.
“This guy, man,” Dre sighed. “You make an accusation and only back it up with one female I was fucking?”
“Now that I think about it, he’s right. And you know it, Dre,” another light-skinned guy added.
“Fuck you even talking about, Brooks?” Dre challenged.
“Your preference is non-Black girls,” the guy answered and shrugged. “Cop to that shit.”
“I thought that was understood,” another guy chimed in. Al poured more Alize into his cup while laughing and shaking his head. Ashton sat back with his curled hand covering most of his face. He was a quiet presence, taking in all of the shenanigans. The guys laughed. Hard. “I mean, look at who you chasing now.”
“Samantha White!” someone belted out, causing the choir to go up even louder in laughter.
“Exactly!” Al made clear. “That’s all I’m saying. We leaving this shit to you next year. I don’t want no turning of the tide in Blakewood’s culture that Black women ain’t the fucking shit. Ya heard!” He cracked up, but I got the impression there was little joking in that.
“Look, man,” Dre started, “I love all women.”
“That’s the first sign of a nigga that don’t like his own!” David charged, pointing across the center of the bus, directly at Dre.
“What you think, big homie?” Al asked Ashton. “What’s your preference?”
Dre sighed again, head rolling to his immediate right at Ashton.
“I ain’t got no choice in the matter, really.” Ashton exhaled heavily.
“Why not?” David asked.
Ashton’s eyes were low and his smirk was in play. “Two names?”
“NormaJean and Aivery!” someone shouted.
The last name made my stomach curl. The first one ignited my curiosity again. Who was this old lady, NormaJean? Ashton’s grandmother?
“Nope,” Ashton corrected. “Wanda Lee.”
“Ah, man!” Al laughed.
“I had a girlfriend in my second-grade class named Susan. I told everybody about her. Then, in third grade, I had another girlfriend in my class named Patty. I thought I was the shit until my pops threw my ninth birthday party and invited Patty and her family. Shit! The next year, Ms. Wanda had my ass transferred to Ellis Academy where I completed my primary education!” He could hardly finish his sentence, laughing so hard with the guys.
I guessed they, too, knew the force of Wanda’s nature. I’d only met the woman once and never wanted to again. She scared the holy hell out of me! But I couldn’t deny how funny the story was. That woman didn’t play when it came to Ashton.
Dre raised his palm for dap. “Ellis Academy! Leading the Garden State in education, leaps and bounds ahead of the broken public school system!”
“For life!” Ashton met him for a hi-five.
That reminded me Dre was from New Jersey, too. They were in the same school system.
“What about mixed girls, Spence?” David asked once the bus quieted.
Ashton shrugged. “I think all women are beautiful, but my mother taught me about the well of beauty in Black women. There are so many available, man,” Ashton groaned as his face tightened in passion. “There ain’t enough time to explore other pots when you ain’t get to the bottom of yours, you know?”
“Fuck! You right!” Paulie shouted from behind the wheel, and that caused them to howl in laughter. “I love Black women, for real!” His eyes made their way to me again after that statement.
Blindly, I met eyes with Ashton, who, in his own slick way, told me he’d caught on to Paulie’s eye-hustling, too. Annoyed, I rolled my eyes to my lap, wanting to