Needy Little Things(32)
“Punk.” I shove him hard into the mattress and stand up.
“Your breath stanks!” he shouts to my back as I walk to the bathroom.
He’s waiting for me in the hall when I come out. I blow my minty-fresh breath in his face.
“Can we do something fun today?”
“Josiah. You know what’s been going on. It’s not a good—”
“But it’s spring break! Mama said we could go to the zoo today.”
Do-not-enter vibes ooze from her bedroom door. I look up the zoo admission fee on my phone. “How much money you got? Because it’s going to cost us fifty dollars to get in.”
Jojo runs to the kitchen like something’s chasing him. He opens every single drawer, searching and searching, until he finds what he’s looking for. “Here they are!” Two free passes to Zoo Atlanta. “Please, Riyah. Can we go? Can you take me? It’s going to rain tomorrow. I want to see”—he looks at the tickets carefully—“the new reptile exhibit!”
“Josiah—”
“Please!” he begs, dark eyes glistening like two black marbles.
The look on his face puts my heart in a chokehold. Little brat.
“And we can go get stuff for Santa Bag,” he adds. “It’s looking kind of low.”
I take an unnecessary peek inside my bag. Afro Alt left it pretty depleted, and with the way things have been going, this is not the time for me to be packing light on things that people need.
“Okay. We can go.”
* * *
Jojo and I hit up the dollar store, where I drop twenty precious dollars on random stuff. It hurts, but it doesn’t feel like I have a choice. Not since the headaches started. It was easier when I was a kid. When the needs were just whispers that I could tune out. Now the only way to shut them up is to fulfill, and that means Santa Bag needs to stay stocked. I take Jojo to Grant Park next door to the zoo, hoping we can stumble upon a few useful, and free, extras. He launches straight into Operation Find Stuff. He creeps through the grass, eyes trained on the ground, stopping abruptly here and there when he thinks he’s spotted something good. Half a mile into our walk, he comes to me with a handful of items. Bottle caps, pens, receipts, a couple of keys, rubber bands, and a gold ring that looks like it got separated from its owner a decade ago.
I use the hem of my shirt to rub some grime off the ring. “Dang, Jo. You did good. I should start paying you for this.”
“Yeah. You should.” He grins widely and darts off to the playground to search some more.
I plop down on a hot plastic bench and check our group chat. I agree with Malcolm’s suggestion that we all meet at Retro Diner for dinner later tonight. Then I check the Atlanta Police Department’s Facebook page. They posted about Deja yesterday morning. The same senior picture on all the hard copy posters smiles back at me.
Seventeen-year-old Deja Brielle Nelson was last seen Saturday evening at approximately 9:30 P.M. at Hyde Park, the location of the annual Afro Alt Music Festival. Deja was wearing a white shorts outfit and platform sneakers with her hair styled in long golden-brown braids. She stands five foot two inches and weighs one hundred and twenty pounds. If you have any information about the disappearance or whereabouts of Deja, please contact the Atlanta Police Department immediately.
There are eighty-seven comments, twenty-six shares, and almost two hundred reactions, sad emojis leading the pack. I add a comment about the rally and end it with #FindDeja. Then I scroll down the page until I find Casey Sullivan’s missing person post.
Sixteen-year-old varsity athlete and honor student Casey Ann Sullivan …
I stop reading there. Deja’s an athlete and honor student, too. It’s little things like that. Little things that alter people’s perception in little ways. We hit all of Deja’s brag points on our posters, but I hate that it even matters. Should people care less about her disappearance if she were a C student? I’m sitting at a 1.9 GPA this semester and participate in zero extracurriculars. What if it’d been me? Casey’s post has over seventy thousand reactions and I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that I can’t compare the stats of her post when it was twenty-four hours old to Deja’s.
“Sariyah?” comes a voice from behind me.
Ms. Jess’s corgi waddles over and happily sniffs my feet.
“Oh. Hi, Ms. Jess.” I’m beyond thankful the only thing radiating off her is the floral scent of her perfume.
She looks out at the playground. “Big sister duty?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re going to the zoo in a few.”
“That’ll be nice.” Her words come out far less enthusiastic than usual. Like speaking is a great effort.
“How are you?” I ask.
She continues to look at Josiah. Her huge sunglasses block the upper half of her face. “Oh, you know. It’s been a lot.” The dog takes a big poop and she pauses to pick it up. “I’m sure you’re eager to get back to work and cash in on all the spring break tips. I was thinking about opening back up next week. Probably leave most of it to you and Jude for a while. I still need some time off.”
I watch an ant carry a crumb across the seat of the bench, not sure what to say. Is she so overwhelmed by what happened with Danny that she doesn’t know what happened to Deja? Deja, who she hired to work in the shop last summer while Malcolm and I were in Chefly. I guess it’s possible she hasn’t heard. Or maybe she just doesn’t know what to say, either.