Still… babies are a gift and all that. I could paint a whole series on maternity for my next showing.
Fuck it. I guess I can keep this old nigga’s baby. For the plot and all.
Hold the stepdaddy though, maybe even indefinitely.
“Davenport! Let’s go,” the officer announces, and I stand up, rubbing my butt that hurts because of that hard ass seat.
He leads me to the front of the station, where my bestie-in-law is waiting and scowling at me. I can’t help but beam at him, which makes his own scowl deepen.
“Peanuthead. What a pleasant surprise,” I coo.
He turns without replying but I know it’s ‘cause of where we are. I’ll get an earful once we’re in the car.
The door isn’t even closed before he starts. “Now why the FUCK are you shooting muthafuckas at the hospital, Dub?! Got Choc smoking all my good weed and shit.” He skirts out the parking lot and zooms toward what I’m guessing is his house.
I shrug. “Nigga played with me so I shot his ass.”
Peanuthead sighs. “Bro, you finna be a mom. You can’t be nutting up like that just ‘cause a nigga played with you. You gotta tone that shit down, especially with my niece or nephew still baking. Besides, you only been here a week. What nigga you found that fast?”
Dan’s so fucking embarrassing I don’t even wanna acknowledge him, but one thing about Peanuthead is he doesn’t leave any stone unturned, so I might as well be honest now. “It was my baby daddy. But you’re right. I’ma tone it down. I broke up with him and well, you know… so I won’t see him and have a reason to light his ass up again. And he won’t be pressing charges, so it’s gravy.”
Peanuthead just shakes that rock head of his. “You a fucking fool. Now I see why Choc be dealing with me. She had practice with yo ass.”
We both cackle since he’s right. Dal and I are similar, but she’s always been way more responsible and at least tries to keep her temper in check. Not me though. Granted, I don’t bother nobody, but it don’t take much to get me there.
“You know that hotel shit is dead, right? I’m supposed to drop you off at Dal’s then go get yo shit, so if you got anything embarrassing out let me know now.”
I shove his dumb ass. “Fuck you… I know. Just, let Dal lay eyes on me and we can go get my shit. Contrary to popular belief, I do think before I act sometimes. I figured Ima need a chaperone.”
“Yeah, yo ass is insane. Reminds me of my young bulls. But shit, you said you shot ya baby dad. I know you hardbody, but you bringing life into the world. It’ll be cool to do that surrounded by family. And maybe seeing you blow up with child might light a fire under Choc.”
I roll my eyes. “Denver is eleven, Peanuthead. And Lil Mama is four. She got me by two, now. We not raising our kids together.”
“Sheeeit,” this nigga says as we pull up to Dal’s crib. He looks over and smirks. “Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
Rahshad “Shotta” Washington
Present
Onlyacouplemorehours until I can smoke.
I don’t like to smoke or drink until after a show. It would be a good idea now, seeing as it would calm me down, but I’ll prolly smoke and drink myself into a stupor, and I can’t do that to Nut and Turk.
BirchFest is a hit like I knew it’d be. Sold out, two-day music festival, and I’m headlining the last night. Not even because they my bros, and would have done it for me if I asked.
Nah, I’m headlining because I’m that nigga. My debut album just made double-platinum. And the first single off my next one hit gold two weeks ago.
I never even wanted to rap or sing, not like my bros. Producing is my passion. I’ve always loved taking shit apart and making new things, and doing that with beats and my Granddad’s favorite songs was something that calmed me, especially after a skit.
But one of Wyn’s stupid ass dares got me on one of her singles, and next thing I know I’m making a whole album. And now, with this show, I’ll be cemented as a rap star.
Crazy, I’m living my best friends’ dreams.
Fuck, I need to smoke.
Ghosts follow me around everywhere it feels like.
But shit, one of them niggas is alive and well, based off the picture I saw last night.
