And then Autumn’s rapping over Q’s beatboxing, and it’s a whole-ass thing.

My name is Autumn, and this is Q.

Carpet Denim is what we ’bout to do.

We rock every party.

We get played hardly.

If ya step to him, or me, or you, or she,

Prepare to be sorry.

Buuh-huuh-huhhh-huuuuuh

“Wow,” I say. “I don’t even want to ask how long you two practiced that, or even whose idea it was, because wow. I can’t unsee or unhear any of that.”

“Let’s hear you spit,” Q challenges me.

But I wave them off. “Y’all ain’t ready.”

Autumn scoffs. “I told you he’d be scared, Q.”

“Oh, never that. NEVER. THAT.” I look over at Whit. “Yo, Whit you ready?”

Whit slants her headband, semicrosses her arms. “Yo, J, I stay ready.”

“Okay, then drop that beat.”

And then Whit proceeds to deliver the worst beatboxing performance in musical history. The only thing crappier is my rhyme skills.

“Yo, yo, yo, uh, uh, uh,” I groan, the way rappers do when they’re preparing to jump on some bars and spit a verse. But I basically keep doing that until Autumn and Q are laughing their asses off, and then I figure I might as well keep it going, considering Whit and I have already lost this battle.

“So, here we go, Whitney and Jamal. We back to give you that hot heat, to make you applaud.”

“Boooooo,” Autumn interjects.

“Hot heat,” Q says, shaking his head. “As opposed to the well-documented cold heat. Got it.”

Whit stops her highly irregular beat, and I pause my rhyming. “Yo, who invited these fools anyway, Whit? I thought you said it was just you and me.”

“No, you said that. I asked if that wasn’t good enough for you.” Whit winks. “But c’mon, Carpet Denim is, and will always be, about family. And family isn’t only what you’re born into. Some family you’re given, and some family you choose.”

And we all nod our heads in agreement, because church.

And then Whit’s tossing a headband to Q, one to Autumn, and yeah, okay, maybe we look like the last four kids to get picked for dodgeball, but so what?

I stick my hand out in the middle of us, and everyone piles their hand on top. “Seize the day on me, seize the day on three,” I say. “One, two, three!”

“Seize the day,” we all shout.

“That’s what the hell I’m talking about,” Whit says. “Now let’s do this!”

So, yeah, I’m still kinda mixed-feelinged about this made-up Carpet Denim continuation thing. But one thing I’m not confused about: how much I love these three people. I can’t imagine a better foursome.

33

And of course, we all see what Whit’s doing.

That she’s pushing us to heal.

But that doesn’t mean I gotta like the salve.