Page 48 of Wings of Ebony
“Like a diamond,” I say. “So, what’s good with you?”
“Been working a lot. Got this gig at the car parts store I been holding down, then helping Ms. Leola around here. Graduating in a few weeks, too.”
I don’t know what I thought he’d be doing, but this ain’t it. “So you ain’t kicking it at Dezignz no more?”
“Nahh, done with that whole crew. Not trying to get caught up. Ain’t ’bout that life anymore. Trying to own mine, not let these streets own me. Plus, my moms got a good job downtown so we ain’t hurting for the cash like we was.”
I’m smiling. “Proud of you.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. I shift, careful to keep his skin away from mine.
“Proud of me too.”
Our eyes lock and time zaps backward. I’m in high school again and it’s just me and him. I feel funny all over and I scoot my seat backward. When did our faces get so close?
“The fam, good?” I ask. His little brother was like a brother to me. Smart like him too. High cheekbones sit beneath his deep-set eyes and his teeth glisten when he smiles.
“Yeah, we good, everybody’s good.” He tries to tuck a strand behind my ear, but I pull my skin away as I breathe in his scent. Notes of vanilla and cedar make gooseprickles dance on my skin.
“It’s really good to see you,” he says.
I pretend not to notice the way his tongue runs across those plump lips I used to kiss. “Good to see you, too.”
“Am I interrupting?” It’s Tasha with a giant heart-covered bookcradled in her arms and a kitty circling her feet.
Oh god, could she have worse timing?
He looks at me and the book and grins, huge. “Wait, wait, wait.” His chest muscles clench as he chuckles. “Is that what I think it is?”
Tasha sets the book between us and I am mortified. She flips open the page, past pictures and tests and movie ticket stubs, and I amdyinginside. He’s getting a kick out of this, grinning and looking at me like I been sitting here this whole time pouring over our relationship, reminiscing.
“This isnotwhat it looks like, I swear.”
“Aye, yo. It’s cool. You ain’t gotta front. I missed you, too.” He laughs into his fist, trying to slow down the page turns. “Remember this?” He points to a frayed red ribbon from our first Valentine’s Day. He allegedly brought me these “pretty flowers” and wrapped them up in this ribbon. Even tried to tie a bow. Well, windy-ass Houston. By the time he made it to my door, all that was left was the ribbon and a few stems. We laughed to tears and he never lived that one down.
“OMG,staahhhhp.” I swear if I was white my cheeks would be beet red. “Tasha, what did you find? Anything useful?”
“No, that’s what I was gonna say. There’s plenty of pictures of his tattoos in here.”
He looks between us, confused.
“But there’s no artist names, like you thought.”
I swear, common sense ain’t common. “Girl, take them out.” I reach inside the plastic cover and pull out a picture of a tribal tattoo he got done on his biceps. “Turn them around.” I flip over the picture and, sure enough, scribbled there is the tattoo artist’s name.“See!”
“No, but foreal, what are you doing?” Julius asks.
Do I tell him? Or rather, how much do I tell him?
I tug my sleeves down for good measure. “So, I saw a tattoo on these two dudes getting away with some foul shit. I think it’s weird they have the same exact tattoo in the same spot, so I wanted to find out who did them. It’s super detailed, looks real top-notch, so I figured your old pieces could point me in the direction of an artist’s name.”
“Show me the ink.”
Tasha hands him her phone with a picture of bus stop guy, and Julius squints. He stretches his fingers, swipes a few times, and leans in again. “You’re sure this is the tattoo?”
“Yeah.”
“How sure?” He looks at me and everything that’s warm in his eyes grows cold.
