He scoffed. “Bitch! I said this doesn’t concern you. Y’all women love drama.”
My stomach clenched, not because of the word, but because of the confidence behind it—the ease. Disrespect rolled off him like it was his native language.
Jazz was already shaking her head and pulling her phone out, thumbs flying. She didn’t even speak, just called. I knew exactly who she was dialing.
Mr. Henderson leaned in closer to me, invading my space like he had a right.
“You’re a tease. That’s the problem. You want to act innocent while you do what you do. You are a fucking hypocrite,” he whispered.
The whisper felt louder than the mall. It felt like a hand over my mouth. It felt like my classroom all over again, except now, there were lights and shoppers and nowhere to hide.
Mel made a sound, sharp and disgusted. “Who the hell are you talking to?”
He snapped his head toward Mel. “Stay your ass out of this.”
Reece and Reagan had gone quiet behind us, the way teenagers did when they sensed something grown was happening. My instincts pulled them behind me, away from him, away from this moment. I wanted to be a wall, but walls got tired too. Even walls needed back-up.
He pointed to Jonay. “And you, who even are you? She got a whole crowd of bitches now? Some kind of gang of bitches?”
Jazz’s phone was still at her ear. Her eyes never left his face. “Baby, we have some rude, Fat Albert nigga calling us out our names in The Rooted Rack. He’s all in Jonay and Solé’s face. Please get here expeditiously,” she said, low and urgent.
She looked at Harris with a smirk and retorted, “You have royally fucked up. Please keep that same energy, fat ass Carlton looking muthafucka!”
Mr. Henderson heard it and got louder, like the volume could make him right. “Get out of my business! I’m talking to her, not y’all. She can speak for herself!”
I forced my voice to work again. “I said, leave me alone!”
He stared at me like he couldn’t believe I had the audacity to stand on my own now. Then he reached for me, not aggressively at first, just . . . claiming.
His hand closed around my arm, fingers biting in, and my body went ice-cold, skin trying to leave before I could. He tuggedlike I was movable, like he could pull me away from my people and call it normal.
And I hated how familiar it felt, not from my past, but from womanhood itself. That moment a man treated your boundaries like suggestions, and your no like something he could debate with his hands.
I heard the ladies screaming for him to get off me, to let me go, and saw them shielding the girls away from the chaotic scene.
And then, a fist went flying.
It was so fast I barely saw who swung first. I just saw Mr. Henderson’s head jerk back, his shoulders stumble, his mouth open in shock, like he couldn’t believe consequences existed. Ahmad’s voice cut through the chaos like a siren.
“See, this that bullshit I be talking about, bruh! I can’t go nowhere off duty with you heathens. Just like when we were kids. Damn! Are you good, Beauty?” He rattled off, then checked in on Jazz as she nodded her yes at him.
Roman, Elias, and Ahmad were there, Roman tall and furious, Elias moving with that calm, reserved danger energy. Ahmad scanned the area as if he was counting cameras and exits.
Jonay didn’t miss a beat. “He tapped her on the shoulder,” she said, pointing. “She looked uncomfortable. I came over. He dismissed me. Then he called me out my name.”
Elias’s ears perked up so quickly it was almost funny if it wasn’t terrifying. He let out this slight, off-kilter laugh, like his brain enjoyed violence the way some people enjoyed dessert.
“What he said to you, Gorgeous?” he asked Jonay, voice too calm for the moment.
Jazz snapped. “Don’t answer that nigga.”
Ahmad echoed it instantly. “Please don’t answer that nigga, sis. Matter fact—” He pointed down the corridor. “I’m pullingcameras. I’m bribing witnesses if I gotta. I’m off duty. It’ll be our word against anybody else’s. I don’t trust these mall folks.”
Mel grabbed my hand. “Solè, are you okay?”
I nodded, but my throat burned. My arm ached where he grabbed me. The ache wasn’t just physical. It was the insult of it, the audacity of someone thinking he could touch me to move me, like I was furniture.
Mr. Henderson held his face like he couldn’t believe reality had hit him. “This is harassment,” he whined. “He assaulted me!”
