The Calm Before the Storm
New Orleans,Lower 9th Ward, Age 16
New Orleans at night, that was a whole spirit in itself. Down in the Lower 9th, we didn’t just live—we moved. The block had rhythm, like it was breathing on its own. Even when it was quiet, it still buzzed with the kind of energy that made you look over your shoulder, just in case.
Kids were still outside barefoot, playing tag with the mosquitoes. Somebody’s mama was yelling from the window—“Y’all betta bring y’all fast lil’ behinds in this housenow!”—like she hadn’t already said it three times, and her voice would magically make them appear. The old heads were out on theirporches slapping dominoes and talking greasy about “the good old days.” All the while the aunties were next door, curlers in and all, runnin’ their mouths about everybody’s business but their own.
The air smelled like somebody’s boil pot was bubbling over with crawfish, corn, andouille sausage, turkey necks, and crab legs. Somebody’s speakers were knocking old-school Wayne, and every time the bass hit, it shook the porch under my feet. The streetlights flickered like they were trying to warn us about something. I didn’t know it then, but I definitely should’ve listened.
I was sitting on the porch, with a notebook in my lap and pen in my hand—but I wasn’t writing nothing. I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus for anything when Jacory James was posted across from me, leaning against my brother Silas’s Cutlass like he was made to be there.
He was tall now. His dark brown skin glistening from the sunlight, and his sharp jaw, along with that lazy-ass smirk like he stayed two seconds from trouble. His durag was tied clean, and his waves were peeking out at the edges. And the way the streetlight hit his face? Whew.
I’d been in love with him since I was nine. He just didn’t know it yet.
“You good, baby?” Jacory asked, eyes on me, voice low and warm.
I blinked. “Yeah. Why?”
He grinned. “’Cause you been staring at me like I’m homework due at midnight.”
Before I could even check him, Silas turned his head slowly. He was leaning against the hood, arms folded, eyes squinting.
“You got somethin’ you tryna say to my sister, Jacory?”
Jacory didn’t flinch. He chuckled, scratched his jaw. “Damn, big bro. I can’t ask if she’s good?”
Silas didn’t laugh. “Not when you askin’ like that.”
See, Silas and Jacory were cool, but they weren’t boys. Jacory was my best friend. Silas always respected him—for the most part—but he always watched him around me like a hawk with trust issues. It was almost as if he could tell we had a secret between us that we hadn’t quite let him or ourselves in on yet.
Chase, Silas’s right-hand clown, was sittin’ on the hood next to him, already grinnin’ like a devil.
“Oooooh, Jacory steppin’ over friendship lines,” he sang. “Silas, don’t act like you ain’t been seein’ it, real shit.”
“Shut yo’ messy ass up,” I mumbled, but my cheeks were burning.
Jacory held up both hands. “Look, man. I gottoo muchrespect for Yaya. Always have. I ain’t never played with her, and I never will.”
Silas let the silence hang for a second then nodded slowly. “Good. Keep it that way.”
Jacory smirked and looked over at me, but that look? That look said he wasn’t tryna keep it that way much longer.
Then it happened?—
“Ayo, shorty! Lemme holla at you real quick!”
The block got quiet in the kind of way that lets you know things were about to go left.
I turned and saw three dudes across the street near the corner store. They looked outta place—like they didn’t belong on our side of the 9th. One had a scar down his cheek. Another had on slides with no socks and a tank top like he just walked out of the county jail.
Jacory straightened up at the same time Silas pushed off the car.
Chase tossed his drink in the bush. “Aight. I guess it’s go time.”
I stayed seated. “No, thank you; I’m good,” I called across the street.
One of them laughed. “She say she good like that mean anything. Bring yo’ fine lil’ ass over here, baby.”
