His feet moved without his permission toward the courts. Sincere was surrounded, being pushed from boy to boy as others laughed.
Rahshad heard Set call after him but he didn’t look back. He just walked faster until he got to one of the boys. With both hands, he pushed him with all his strength. “Leave him alone!”
“The fuck? Who is you nigga?” one of the other boys said, but Rahshad didn’t answer. He just hooked his right arm and smashed his closed fist into his cheek.
The other kids gasped and oohed as he went down, knocked out cold.
But Rahshad knew not to stop fighting. Not until they were all down. So he started socking and punching whoever he saw. The boy Sincere was frozen, but Rahshad wasn’t. He let all the anger and rage he usually kept in check flow through him. Anger and rage that mixed with despair and anguish, that he never really understood or had a reason for until recently. His life wasn’t bad. His mother loved him. Grandparents adored him. He had plenty of friends and his teachers liked him. So the anger and rage was muted, dormant, something in the recesses of his mind.
But then he started sixth grade, and Charles Watson decided he would torment him relentlessly. In a few short months Rahshad began to have permanent crescents in his palms from fisting his hands. He began to have migraines, getting so bad he’d have to stay home. He began to start doing pushups late at night to get all the unchecked energy out of his body.
Granddad told him a man never solved his problems with their fists.
But Charles Watson didn’t leave Rahshad alone until he beat the shit out of him behind the convenience store around the corner from his school.
And after Charles was slumped on the floor, Rahshad felt more like himself than he did in a long time.
“Ay! Ay, chill!”
Arms locked Rahshad’s behind him and pulled him off the courts. When the haze cleared, he saw stormy gray eyes searching his own, with something passing through them.
“Shad. Chill, man,” he muttered.
Rahshad stopped struggling. When his breathing turned normal, his face crumpled up and tears gathered in his eyes. “I don’t like bullies,” he whispered.
“Shit, you the fucking bully. You laid all them muthafuckas out, Baby Set,” Turk said. A chorus of other boys murmured in agreement behind them, but Rahshad kept his eyes on Set, who pulled him into a hug.
“You good, bro.” Set kept an arm around his neck as he turned him to face the courts. Other boys were picking up the niggas that were bullying Sincere, while he stood looking at Rahshad in awe, standing next to another young boy.
“This my brother, Shad. You fuck with him, you fucking with me.” Set’s raspy voice didn't have to project across the courts for everyone to hear and feel him.
He turned them back toward the car parked on the curb. “C’mon, y’all. Let’s take Shad to meet G-Pops.”
“Fasho. I think it’s still some breakfast too if you hungry, Shad. Then we can come back later and you can meet the fellas. Rico and Fredo got a playstation so we can play the game.” Turk squeezed Rahshad’s shoulder and smirked at him before calling shotgun and raced Peanut to the car.
“You got heart, Shaddy Shad. I guess having a brother won’t be too bad,” Set chuckled.
Rahshad sniffled and grinned. “I guess, huh.”
Macy Davenport
Three months ago…
Ihaveaproblemwith doing shit for the plot. If I get too bored, I do some spontaneous shit, and most of the time I end up in some mess. Then by the end, I fail upward. Doing shit for the plot is how I became an artist. It’s how I once hooked up with a magician with a split tongue.
And it’s how I ended up pregnant.
One night, I was bored, and got on this app that tells you what’s happening in the city. I ended up at this hotel that plays live music. That’s where I met Dan. He was handsome, older, with salt and pepper hair and a strong jaw. We drank, danced, and fell into bed together in his room. He was in Northupton on business frequently, and every time he was in town we metup. But noooo, it wasn’t just sex like I intended. He took me on dates, bought me gifts, and pressed me about meeting Mom. Told me loved me and all that other shit niggas do, too.
Then six months later, I’m thinking I have the stomach flu, and I’m actually six weeks pregnant. Mind you, I was told the chances of that happening are slim to none. So I’m already mourning the fat ass blunt I had rolled up that morning, and the new wine I bought, when this nigga Dan stops answering my calls.
Like I’m the type of bitch that can be ghosted.
So what do I do? I reverse image search his ass. And that’s when I find out Dan is Dr. Daniel Enoch, Chief of Medicine at West Kenton Memorial Hospital, andmarriedfor as long as I’ve been alive to some old lady who probably doesn't know good ole Dan likes a finger in his ass.
Being with child should have stopped me from doing anything rash, but I still don’t really think it’s registered, besides, like, not smoking and drinking. And, I’m not really beingrash, I tell myself. I mean, I didn't just up and move to Kenton without a plan. I’m supposed to start at Uncle Raúl’s Kenton firm on Monday as Dal’s receptionist. She offered to let me stay with her, but I turned her down. She has the chance to really build something with that crazy boyfriend of hers, and I need to stand on my own two for once.
And she would have tried to talk me out of my plan.
