Needy Little Things(46)

“Hell yeah, I’m projecting and why shouldn’t I? I’m angry, Sariyah. I’m pissed off. I actually thought things would be different with Dej. But it’s been five days and already her own friend has new priorities. Why do you want to raise money for that man when you could raise it for Deja? For Tessa? For all the other missing people who might still actually have a shot at life?”

“Malcolm, you need to chill out. For real.”

He laughs. “No, I don’t. Ms. Jess laid you and Jude off. You don’t have any money and it sure don’t sound like you’ll be satisfied with throwing ten bucks at the fundraiser, so put it out there. How are you thinking about helping out? Go ahead and say it out loud so you can stop looking all confused about why I’m so mad.”

I set my jaw and refuse to meet his eyes.

“Okay. I see you. Go ahead and pimp out your ability, but don’t come crying to me when the gnats start swarming.”

I’m angry at him for knowing, for guessing, for having the nerve to look down his nose at me over it. “Why are you acting like you haven’t suggested I do exactly that at least once a month for the past three years?”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t know I was joking?”

“Because I didn’t!”

He looks genuinely surprised—and irritated—by this.

“Maybe the first ten times, but when someone makes the same joke five hundred times, you start to wonder if they mean it. You’re always talking about hustling and grinding and making money. What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to think I would never honestly suggest you do something that could get you hurt. Folks out there are unpredictable, Sariyah. We know that personally. Too personally.”

I pick at my chipped nail polish. Over this conversation. Over this day. This week. He can suddenly act all high and mighty if he wants. I’ll leave him out of it. Gladly. “I gotta go.”

He turns his back to me. “Bye, then.”

I storm out of his bedroom and leave the door wide open because I know he hates it.

Any building anger fizzles as soon as I step outside. Only hurt is left in its wake and I’m sick of hurting. I pull my phone from my bag and go to my recent contacts.

“Hello?” Jude’s voice is deeper and scratchier than usual.

“Did I wake you?”

He clears his throat. “I fell asleep on the couch. What’s up?”

“Malcolm and I had a fight. Can I come over? I don’t want to go home.”





CHAPTER 19





Jude is sitting on his front stoop when I get to his place, his legs stretched out in front of him, black socks and slides on his feet.

The gate to the fence enclosing his tiny front yard squeals when I push it open.

“Hey.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Let’s go around back. It’s nice out.”

I follow him to the side of the house. It’s weedy and barely wide enough for us to walk through single file, but my jaw hangs slack when we get to the backyard. There are twinkly lights strung back and forth across the small, shrub-lined yard. A beautiful patio made of stone pavers. A firepit. Lounge chairs. It’s gorgeous, and it smells like a whole-ass flower garden, even though I don’t see anything in bloom yet. “What’s this secret oasis you’ve been hiding?”

He rubs his neck and holds back a smile. “I set it up for my mom.”

“Jude, you did all this? You could start a business. This is amazing. Was it her birthday or something?”

He laughs. “No. A son can’t do nice things for his mother for no reason?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.” A drop of piping-hot shame courses through me. When’s the last time I did something nice for my mom just because?

“Nah. You called it. It was an apology and thank-you wrapped up in one.” He squats near the firepit, fiddles with some kindling, then pats his pockets until he comes up with a lighter. “Good night for some flames.”

“You wouldn’t have a little something else we could light up, would you?” I take another look around the yard. “Doesn’t look like there’s any poison ivy back here.”

He chuckles. “Are you sure? Definitely got the impression it wasn’t your thing,” he says as he pulls an Altoids container from the pocket of his sweatpants.

“I don’t think it is. Tried it once thinking it would quiet the needs. Opposite effect.”

“Then why do you want to do it?”

“There aren’t any needs to quiet right now, but there’s plenty of other stuff going on in my head that I’d like to shut up. Maybe it’ll be different this time.”

“Maybe.” He removes a finger-length, tightly rolled paper from the container, lights it, and takes a long draw. His thin gold-framed glasses slide to the end of his nose and he looks up at me over them, fire glinting in his eyes. My pulse quickens and my stomach fills with butterflies. For the first time, I don’t shame myself for reacting to him this way.

He takes another puff before passing it to me and I copy him, only I’m not nearly as smooth with it. I choke and cough and pass it back, waving the smoke from my face as we walk to the large, circular lounge couch.

“Are you going to tell me what you did?” I ask once we’re both seated and comfy.