“Thanks.” I smile at Meryl and squeeze her hand. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Before we go further, Shondra and Amir return.
“Bristol, hey, girl.” Amir pulls her into his side, his smile affectionate. Like he said, he was there the day I met her. She’s known him as long as she’s known me. “Been missing you.”
“I’ve been around.” She gives him a squeeze and leans her head on his shoulder. “You’re the one who ran off to New York.”
“Not me.” Amir tilts his head in my direction. “Just following the boss.”
My gaze wrestles with Bristol’s until I break the awkward, heated moment.
“Bristol, this is Shondra,” I say. “She teaches here and coordinated everything. Shon, this is Bristol, my manager.”
I turn to find my mother has Bristol under her microscope. This should be fun.
“Bristol, this,” I say, pulling my mother close, “is my mom.”
“Your mother?” Bristol’s eyes widen and swing to my mother. “But you look so young.”
“You know what they say.” Ma shrugs. “Black don’t crack.”
“They actually say that?” Bristol asks.
Shondra and Amir laugh right away. If you get Bristol, you like her. Amir’s always liked her. Shondra must get her, too. Even irritated with her, I have to smile a little. Ma isn’t prepared to laugh, but her lips twitch.
“I mean,” Bristol rolls her eyes at herself. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Have you now?” Ma looks Bristol up and down. “You’re Rhyson’s sister, huh?”
“Um, yes.” Bristol nods, an uncertain smile on her lips at my mother’s thorough vertical inspection. “We’re twins actually.”
“Hmmmm,” Ma says. “I see the resemblance.”
“Yes, well, it’s great to finally meet you.” Bristol glances at me briefly before turning back to Shondra, pouring all her charm into a smile. “Meryl needs to sit down with Grip once he’s done, just for a few minutes. I was thinking there might be a place here on campus where they could do the interview?”
“Sure,” Shondra says. “We can find a spot, easy.”
“And we’ll just need to get some releases signed.” Bristol reaches into her bag and extracts a few forms. “In case we use pictures of any students or places here on campus. Could we scope a few possibilities?”
“We might be in Legit magazine?” Shondra’s eyes light up. “That’s great. We have a few minutes before Grip starts. Let’s go.”
She, Shondra, and Meryl turn to walk off.
“Amir,” I say quickly. “Go with them.”
“It’s okay, Grip.” Bristol looks over her shoulder with a small smile. “We’ll be fine.”
“Bristol, you’re not home.” I check my frustration, conscious of how closely the others watch me, especially my mom. “Things could pop off here without warning. Amir will know what to do if anything goes down.”
“She’ll be fine, Grip,” Shondra reassures me.
“I know she will because Amir’s going.” I tip my head toward him . “You got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he says.
“Amir,” Bristol says pointedly, leveling annoyed eyes on me. “That isn’t necessary. Really.”
“Well, Amir works for me, and I told him to go with you.”
A muscle tics in Bristol’s jaw, but she turns without another word and starts walking swiftly toward the exit. Shondra, Meryl, and Amir trade uncertain looks before they take off to catch up.
“Oh, I see you have your emotions well in check,” Ma says sarcastically, watching Bristol leave through the gym door. “No one would ever guess how you feel about that girl.”
“Ma, please.” Chin dropped to chest, I run a hand over my head. “Not today.”
“You need to get over her.” Ma shakes her head. “Just try with Qwest for me, okay?”
“It doesn’t work like that.” I shove my hands into the side pockets of my leather jacket. “I wish it did. I thought it could.”
“Now, when did you say I get to meet Qwest?” She skips over what I’ve said. “You got . . . distracted before.”
“She’ll be here for the release party in a few weeks.”
“I’ll meet her then.” She reaches one hand up to cup my face. “I know you don’t understand, but I get sick and tired of our successful black men ending up with women who don’t look like us.”
“That’s so backward, Ma.” I place my hand over hers against my face, wishing I could transmit my perspective to her through the touch connecting us.
“Backward?” She drops her hands and lifts one brow. “No, that’s truth. You think I made all those sacrifices so you could be a cliché? Some black man who thinks a white woman is the ultimate symbol of success? Like a nice car or a big house, but with blonde hair?”
“She isn’t blonde, and you know me better than that. You raised me better than that.” I’m losing the grasp on my patience the longer I have to defend my feelings for Bristol, since they won’t be doing me any good anyway. “I didn’t fall for her because she’s white. I fell for her because she’s . . . Bristol.”
“You think it isn’t a factor, but it is.” Mama places her hand over her heart like I’m breaking it. “I was afraid of this. I wanted you to go to that fancy school, but I always knew this could happen, that it could influence you. And here we are.”
“I’ve dated Asian girls, Hispanic girls, black girls, white girls. Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“But marrying is a different story.”
“Who said anything about marrying? And it’s a little late in the century to still be hating white people.”
“Tell them that,” she replies with fire. “And I don’t hate all white people. Just like I don’t like all black people. All God’s children, red and yellow, black and white get on your mama’s nerves. Not hating them does not mean marrying them.”
“Nobody’s talking about marrying anyone,” I reiterate. “She won’t even date me, much less marry me. You have nothing to worry about.”
If anyone should worry, it’s me. Because after two days in New York in Qwest’s bed, my feelings for Bristol are just as strong. My anger and my frustration lie on top of them in a thick pile, but I’ve come nowhere near snuffing them out.
Not for the first time I wonder if anything ever will.
Bristol
I’M NOT SURE how much more my ovaries can endure today.
As if Grip looking the way he does isn’t enough, seeing him inspire these kids from his old high school is like a stick of C4 planted in my ovaries.
Boom.
It seems I’m not the only one. Meryl “the huge fan” reporter hasn’t taken her eyes off him since we got here. So much for professional objectivity. She practically threw her panties at him.
Okay. I’m being ridiculous. I know it. I’m taking my frustration out on poor Meryl because the person who really deserves it can’t take it. Not Grip for going to New York and sleeping with Qwest. Not Qwest for inviting him and being exactly the kind of girl he should be with. No, the person who deserves my scorn is me, but I think watching Grip fall for Qwest on every social media platform is punishment enough. So, Meryl it is.
“I know it feels like there’s no way out sometimes,” Grip tells the assembled students from his spot on the gymnasium floor. “I grew up just a few streets over, so I know what happens in Bompton.”
Grip told me once that here when a word starts with the letter “C”, you often substitute a “B” because this is Bloods, not Crips, territory. The possibility that wearing blue or saying “couch” instead of “bouch” could get you killed? I can’t imagine human life being treated so cavalierly.
“Half the boys I knew when I was your age didn’t make it past twenty.” Grip drops his eyes to the wax-shiny basketball court before looking back to the students. “And too many others are locked up. I’m not gonna sugar coat it. The odds are stacked against us.”