“I hope you aren’t going to stare at me while I eat that too.”

“No, I’ll have to miss this one,” Ching said, smiling a little forlornly. “I should get back to Sven. I don’t know when I’ll talk to him again.”

Sanjiv shrugged. “The next time I see Addy, I assume.”

Ching stared at him, speechless. But speech wasn’t really necessary. He knew her well enough to know what her silence meant.

“If I could, I’d buy you a lot of booze right now,” Ching finally said.

“That’s fine,” Sanjiv replied. “Though if you really want to do something for me, you could tell me where your mysterious treasure is.”

The diner door chimed as Addy made her way out and toward the car.

Ching leaned in closer to Sanjiv. “She really likes you; I wasn’t lying about that. You know why? Because you’re the treasure.”

He stared at her.

She stared back at him.

“I hate you.”

Ching gave him a wink as she floated out of the car. “I hate you too.”

Your Life Matters

Your Life Matters

L.L. McKinney

Candace wasn’t in the mood to have this fight again. She kept her attention on the television while the weatherman warned about thunderstorms tonight leading into tomorrow, trying to ignore Ari as the other girl wore a path into the carpet.

“And you couldn’t just leave it alone, could you?” Ari tugged at her blonde ponytail as she paced back and forth. Her pale cheeks were flushed red, making the freckles along her nose stand out. Candace liked to kiss those freckles so that Ari’s face scrunched adorably. Instead, right now, Ari’s face was all fire and fury. Still cute, though.

“I didn’t even say anything.” Candace turned up the volume as some Black man started talking about sports.

“The shirt said it for you!” Ari snatched the remote and hit mute, then flung it at the other end of the couch. It bounced off a throw pillow and thudded against the floor.

Irritation started to buzz between Candace’s ears. “And what’s wrong with what it says?” She folded her arms across her chest, right beneath where the white letters spelled #BlackLivesMatter along the blue material.

“Nothing!” Ari flung her hands into the air, then pressed them to her face. “Nothing is wrong with it.”

“But?” Candace coaxed.

“But . . .” Ari sighed and peeked through her fingers. “I’ve told you how my dad is.”

And she had. Ari had lamented several times about dealing with her very white, very conservative cop father who “wasn’t racist” but always wanted to hear both sides of “these things,” thought all lives mattered, and wished athletes would leave politics out of sports.