Page 3 of You Deserve Good Things

And the storm was already in motion.

It Has Always BeenHer

I’ve been loving my best friend for as long as I can remember—before I even knew how to put a name to it. This wasn’t no lil’ playground crush or schoolyard infatuation. Nah, this was deep-rooted, soul-deep. Like my heart made a home in hers before I even knew how to build one. It’s always been her. Shaniya. Always.

And Silas? He been clocking me about her since day one. He never had to say it straight out, but he stayed checking me with them looks—real protective, big brother energy. Like, “I see what you on, Jacory. Don’t mess this up.” And I respected that. I respectedhim. Because more than anything, I respectedher. Shaniya wasn’t some girl to flirt with or pass time with. Shewas the kind you moved careful around, like your hands were holding crystal.

Silas was the blueprint. That man was solid—stoic even. He didn’t have to say much for the whole room to feel him. And for a dude like me, who lost my pops too early to nonsense, Silas showed me what it meant to be present, to stand ten toes down. He loved his sister loud and proud. And I made myself a vow off that love—I’d always honor her. Protect her. Cherish her.

Shaniya had that glow that came from the inside out. It wasn’t no regular pretty—it was the kind of beautiful you feel when the sun first hits your face on a cold morning. Her heart was wide open, always. Even when life tried to shut her down, she smiled through the storm. When leukemia hit her in third grade and took her hair, her weight, her energy—she still found ways to check onme. Weak in body, but never in spirit. I treated her like fine glass—not ’cause she was breakable, but ’cause she was rare.

We used to sit on her porch after her treatments, me bringing over popsicles or sour belts, her scarf sliding off just a little while the summer air wrapped around us. I’d crack the corniest jokes, and her laugh—soft but steady—made the world feel bearable again. That laugh was healing. A sound I chased like breath.

But to understand how I got here, how I fell this hard, you gotta take it back.

Kindergarten.

The day we moved to the Lower 9th from Baton Rouge, I was pissed. My daddy had left me and my mama, Justine, for some woman who ain’t care nothing about him. Just dipped. Said he was tired of the struggle. Like we wasn’t worth it. Mama packed up our lives with her lips tight and her heart bruised. “We can’t keep choking on memories like they air,” she told me, and I ain’t fully understand it then, but I do now.

Then came the worst part—Daddy got killed by that woman’s boyfriend not long after. Shot in the chest. Gone just like that. I ain’t cry. Couldn’t. I just remember looking out the window while Mama drove us to New Orleans, and all I could think was:I’ll never leave nobody like he left us.

That first day at school was a mess. Humidity had me sweating before we even hit the gate. Me and Mama were walking, and I tried to leap a puddle and missed completely—mud flew up and splashed all over my white-on-whites. I was sick.

Walked onto that blacktop and got clowned immediately. “Boy, what happened to your shoes? You moonwalked through a sewer?”

And then . . .shestepped in.

Shaniya.

I remember her like a dream you don’t wanna wake up from. Brown skin gleaming under the sun, hair in two puffballs with them sparkly butterfly clips that caught every glint of light. She had on a glittery yellow shirt that read “Shine Bright,” a denim skirt with a heart stitched on the pocket, and some pink light-up shoes that blinked like they had something to say. I’d never seen anyone so pretty. Ever.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

“Ilikehis shoes,” she said, loud and proud. “They look like art. Like a muddy masterpiece. Ain’t nothing wrong with being different.”

The kid trying to roast me froze. “Man, whatever.”

She stepped closer, arms crossed. “Say something else and I’m telling my brother Silas. He’ll fold you like a church program.”

The dude backed down instantly. “My bad.” Then, trying to save face, he asked her if he could sit by her in art class.

“Nah,” she said, cutting her eyes. “I don’t sit with people who tear others down. Maybe try being decent first.”

Then she turned to me with that warm smile. The kind that made your chest feel too small for your heart.

“I’m Shaniya.”

“Jacory.”

“Well, Jacory,” she said, “you sitting with me at lunch. And your shoes? They tell a story. Most people too simple to read it.”

I was done. Completely.

We clicked instantly. Ended up in the same class, same reading group, same lunch table. She shared her Fruit Roll-Ups, I traded my chips. She drew hearts on my folders, I sharpened her pencils. We protected each other—me from bullies, her from sadness.

Later on, Chase came into the picture—fiery and loyal. Then Silas, tall and silent but deadly when he had to be. We was a team. Ride or die. Papa Samuel, her daddy, pulled me aside one day after church and said, “You got a good head on your shoulders, son. Don’t let nobody twist it.” I held on to that.

When cats tried to step foul to Shaniya? Silas was the storm, Chase was the flame, I was the finisher. We had her back, always. But real talk? Shaniya ain’t always need us. That girl had bark. Told off more dudes than I could count. “Don’t let the dimples fool you,” she’d say.

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