“My bestie is obsessed with a boy and I find outafterTwitter? I’m really questioning my position in your life.”
When the sweet sensation of cold strawberry touches my tongue, Bryson pushes his ear onto the other side of the phone. “She busy, Mother Teresa. Go read the Bible.”
“Girl...” Chelsea sighs. “I’m slightly disappointed yet happy it’s just lil’ Like Mike you’re obsessed with. I was almost worried it washe who cannot keep his hands off Beckies. I swear, every time I call Marcus, he’s around. Let Brandy deal with that. Anyway, please tell me you saw the Pizza and Pearls event they’re having on the yard tomorrow. Tell me you’re coming.”
She doesn’t ask why I missed a week’s worth of classes. She talks right over me and Mama’s extended stay in the house while shooting a casual slug at Ace. Bryson uses the opportunity to smash his cheek against mine while the strawberry cool cup melts in my hand and they smother me with all of their freshman problems I can’t relate to.
* * *
Ace
Pops saysevery good ball player has a pre-game ritual.
LeBron James tossed chalk and Vince Carter did pull-ups from the basketball net but he says everygreatball player has a pre-practice ritual—one that strokes the mind into a calm stream of thoughts to prepare them for the challenges that lie ahead on an empty court where there aren’t any screaming fans but just the thoughts in their own head.
Phat is my new pre-practice ritual, but she doesn’t know it.
@babyphat04 2d
New clawz on deck.
I smirk at the picture of her oiled up brown hands in the passenger seat of my truck while the stinging heat from the outdoor court at Pops’ strokes my back.
I study the picture, trying to pinpoint when I took my eyes off of her long enough that she had time to snap it, but after a week spent around her, I realize she’s sly. She knows how to control her tongue around CeCe, twist Marcus around her finger, and she’s convinced Twitter she’s a full-fledged lady. There’s different versions of her and I need to know every one of them.
@babyphat04 1d
What does it mean if a dude makes you hungry?
@babyphat04 1d
Because I ain’t ate this whole week but when I think about him my stomach gets…weird.
Twitter is her playground. It’s where version two of her plays.
Her tweets remind me that Bryson still doesn’t know shit about being a man and he’s handed me an open invitation to her mind through our teammates. Last night, LaQuan and Marquise wanted me to follow them back on Twitter just to say they had a blue check in their follows to “impress baddies.” With one press of my thumb, I found Phat sitting inMarquise’sfollows because Bryson didn’t know how to protect his “girl” from his thirsty teammates, just like he didn’t know how to keep her mouth in check.
Now I have to be the bad guy because version two of her tricked me into logging back into my empty account where a million neglected followers waited. They all hoped I’d come back from the dead and say something profound, but all I wanted to do was play in Phat’s playground and teach her something. So, I post a tweet for the first time in life—a subtweet.
@AceWilliamsJr
It means your body is telling you to eat the nigga. Duh, kid.
Then, I change my location in her favorite app to the one place me and her can exist without life’s outside noise: Planet Ace. And after that, I follow her so she can find me and that lonely subtweet. I don’t wait with a twisting stomach for her to respond because I know she won’t right away. She has to think about it. Version one of her is still my little lady. That version doesn’t even know how to flirt with me, or that the details of CeCe’s declining health and her innermost thoughts don’t belong on Twitter.
A patter of footsteps tap across the court.
“What got you smiling this early?” Pops asks, slurping his coffee.
“Cree sent something funny.” I shrug and push up from the ground. “Nothing crucial.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Thought your lonely tail might’ve made a friend.”
Pops isn’t like Mom. I can’t tell him that Phat’s natural scent makes my body restless, that Brandy wasn’t home no matter how hard she tried to be, or that I didn’t need a chaser with my drinks before bed anymore—I just needed Phat’s thoughts.
I scoff. “You being a lil’ dramatic.”
“Not as melodramatic as you. You still holed up at Angie’s?”
