Needy Little Things(53)

CHAPTER 22





It’s hustle for cash round two. Jude calls when he’s outside, but I ask him to come up for a minute. I open the door before he can knock because I didn’t ask Mama if I could have a friend over. I’m not worried about getting caught. She’s already left her room once today. Jojo and I aren’t likely to see her again until Monday.

“Come on in.”

He steps inside and slips out of his jacket. Looking at him makes my armpits sweat and I’m not trying to deal with my awkward bodily reactions to him right now. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

I lead him to the kitchen, and he sits on one of the barstools at the tiny peninsula.

“I want to go back to Five Points Station like we planned, but I was hoping you would help me with something first.”

“What’s that?”

I pour him a glass of water, stalling. “Can we drop Jojo at his friend’s house? It’s on the way.”

He laughs like the question is a joke. “Of course. No problem. Why are you acting so funny?”

I scrunch up my face, embarrassed to say. “I want to find out more about someone.”

“Who?”

“Deja’s mom.” It comes out like a question.

He points at me and whispers, “Is this about her interviews? The crocodile tears?”

“You noticed, too?”

“YouTube is the only place people have been brave enough to point it out. YouTube commenters have no shame.”

“Well, neither do nine-year-old little brothers. Josiah thinks she’s the devil incarnate.”

“I do not!” comes a muffled voice from down the hall. Then more clearly, “What’s in-car-ate?”

I take my brother by the shoulders and direct him back to his bedroom. “Mind your business.”

“If you’re talking about me, it’s my business.”

I dig my knuckles into the top of his head until he calls for mercy. “Go take a shower. Jude’s going to drop you off at Eddie’s house in a little while.”

Jude stands at the end of the hall watching us. I motion toward my room. He gives a nervous glance at my mom’s bedroom door.

“You don’t need to worry about that, but I’ll leave my door open.”

He hesitates a moment more before walking down the hall and making himself comfortable on a pouf in the middle of my floor. I sit cross-legged on the bed. “Back to Ms. Jasmine.”

“Right,” he says. “She’s a little extra sometimes, but maybe she feels like she has to be? Maybe she thinks people expect her to act a certain way?”

“Yeah, but I’m not only talking about the fake crying. I feel bad for even going there, but don’t you think she always seems kinda—”

“High?”

My eyes dart across the hall to Jojo’s room. “Exactly,” I say, notably quieter than he did, but relieved we’re on the same page.

He absentmindedly drums his fingers on the side of his thigh. “Do you blame her if she’s self-soothing a little?”

“Yes,” I say without pausing to think about it. “I do. She needs to be in her right mind right now.”

“Sure, but is that even possible, considering?”

“I think it’s possible for her to make decisions that make everything worse, yeah. And to be clear, I’m not talking about a little weed. Deja never said anything, but I think there’s some heavy stuff going on with her family. I didn’t mention it the other night, but when Malcolm and I visited her house, I saw something really weird.” I show him the Valentine’s Day card and tell him about the chain lock and the research Malcolm and I already did.

He runs his finger over the dark peach fuzz on his upper lip. “You’re right. It’s weird. Especially the lock. But what are you thinking? That Ms. Jasmine is hiding Deja somewhere? That she did something to her? Because she’s on drugs?”

“I don’t know about all that, but I am thinking maybe Dej had a reason to run away. That things weren’t great at home. I already told Malcolm as much. And before you say it, I know. Horrible things can, and do, happen to kids who run away.” I roll my lips together and inhale, preparing to share a hopeful thought that I couldn’t share with Malcolm because this hopeful thought isn’t realistic for Tess. Not with as long as she’s been gone. “Horrible things happen, but not always. Sometimes runaways go to friends. Or extended family. Or a shelter. Or to live with a secret love interest whose name starts with J. I want to keep exploring all of the possibilities.”

“Okay. Where do we start?”

“The internet. Ms. Jasmine.”

He takes a seat next to me and pulls out his phone. “The internet tells lies, you know. Or at the very least leaves a lot to be misinterpreted.”

I know he’s speaking from personal experience, so I promise to take whatever we find with a grain of salt. “To be honest, I’m looking for any reason to drop the feelings I’ve been having about her. I don’t want them to be true.”

“Fair enough.”

I do like Malcolm did and use Google to search for court and DMV records tied to Ms. Jasmine. The only hit I get is a few unpaid parking tickets. My detective work will need to be more grassroots. I sign into Facebook and navigate to her page. She makes half a dozen posts a day and shares a dozen more. I scroll through post after post of Bible verses, quotes about independence and self-care, and videos about wig installs and intermittent fasting. I come across some parenting content here and there, but one post catches my eye. There’s a video of a humiliated child standing on the sidewalk outside of a barbershop holding a sign that says I stole money from my mom’s purse. She shared it to her feed and wrote, “Proof that you can spare the rod without spoiling the child. I don’t hit my kid, but this house knows discipline. Actions have consequences. Most kids these days don’t understand that. Bravo to this mom!” If Ms. Jasmine is that kind of disciplinarian, I wouldn’t want to live under her roof.