Page 1 of The Prodigy

1

Jakari

Mypopsalwayssaidyou should never shit where you eat. But sometimes, I gotta say, it’s worth the risk.

Which is why I was working my ass off trying to get at this little baddie at work. Ladonna was her name, and she looked like Issa Rae, except the ass was fat.

I was grinning in her face right now, in fact, which is why I missed all my mama’s texts and phone calls.

Timing is everything.

If I had been at my desk, or if I’d taken my phone with me when I marched my happy ass down two floors to holler at old girl, I might have got the news immediately, and…I don’t know. Maybe shit would have turned out different.

Anyway, by the time I got back to my desk—without Ladonna’s number, because her fine, mean ass was playing hard to get—I had eight texts and eleven missed calls.

I stood there looking down at my phone, stalling for time because I knew what it was. I’d been dreading it for years now, and here it was staring me in the face.

I sat at my desk in my little ass cubicle and dialed my mama, my stomach twisting into knots. She answered on the first ring and confirmed what I knew.

“Hey, Kari,” she said, her voice hoarse from tears. “Sorry to have to tell you this, but…it’s time to come home.”

IhoppedonI-20east and drove myself away from my life in Atlanta, the life I’d spent eight years building. I was headed home to Midling, Georgia. An hour away from my boring ass office job and my fly ass high-rise condo, not to mention all the bad bitches who had made a nigga feel so welcome in the A.

I wasn’t looking forward to this shit.

I got off the exit around seven or so and met so much traffic, I thought I was right back in Atlanta. I could see police lights up ahead, and as we inched further up the three lane road, I saw two cars that looked banged up. It was an accident.

I looked around me and tried to remember where the fuck I was. Growing up, I knew this town backward and forward. Shit, my family basically owned this damn city. But all my time away had left me a little lost. Shit looked different.

I spotted a strip to my left. A Krogers sat smack in the middle. Used to be a Piggly Wiggly. I guess Midling was getting fancy on me. Next to the store, there was a weave shop, a vitamin shop, a tax place, and a bar.

Hell, yeah.

Liquor was exactly what I needed.

I busted a U and turned into the plaza, glad to be out of that traffic. I wasn’t in the mood to see any police. I got enough of twelve when I was downtown, I damn sure didn’t feel like seeing they asses now.

I parked in the crowded lot adjacent to the bar and locked up tight when I got out. I’d brought enough clothes for two weeks, but even though this town was fairly low on petty crime, my shit was too nice to leave unsecured.

I walked into Sliders and immediately took a seat at the bar. Looking around, I saw that hadn’t much changed, female-wise, since I’d been here last. We have a saying here:Midling dimes are Atlanta fives.And while that might be true, pussy is pussy, and sometimes the fives are more fun. They work harder, because they have to.

“How you doing?”

I looked up and locked eyes with the bartender. Short, a little thinner than I usually liked, and cute. Very cute. Velvety brown skin and shoulder-length hair. A small diamond stud adorned her right nostril, and the low cut of her Sliders t-shirt made her titties look good.

“I’m aight,” I answered back, staring down her shirt. “Lemme get some Hennessey.”

She nodded. “You need a menu?”

“Nah. I ain’t hungry.”

She didn’t respond to that. A few moments later, my drink was in front of me and she was walking away. I stared after her, out of curiosity more than anything else. I wondered who her people were.

Midling ain’t small, but it’s small enough that everybody’s people either know each other or knowofeach other. So unless she’d moved here—which didn’t make sense, because who the fuck would movehere?—she was from here. She didn’t look familiar, though.

I downed my shit in one swallow and signaled her back over.

“Another?” she asked.

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