“Quit, my ass. Billy, when is the last time you wore a skirt?”

“I wish you could hear yourself, Reese. So you mean to say that because I wear jeans most of the time, I’m not feminine? You sound like my mother.”

“You need to listen to her.”

“Whatever, bitch. I know who I am, regardless of what anyone says.”

While Billy and Reese continued to debate her sexuality, Rhonda finally brought her ass out of the building, with the young man in the Yankees hat a few paces ahead. He pulled his cap low and made hurried steps toward the avenue.

“Damn, why don’t you slow down!” she called after him. He slowed down, but didn’t stop walking. “You in a rush or something?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “I got some shit I need to take care of.”

“A’ight. So, am I gonna see you later?” She leaned in to kiss him, but he stepped back.

“Yeah, hit me up later on, shorty.” He gave her a weak smile and walked off.

Rhonda felt played, but she didn’t show it. She was feeling the young man, but she knew he had a girl and he had made it quite clear that he had no intention of leaving her. They both agreed that it was just a fuck thing, but Rhonda had other ideas. He might’ve had game, but she was a professional gamer and he would learn it soon enough.

“That’s what took your tramp ass so long,” Reese said to Rhonda as she approached the car.

“Fuck you, Reese. You always hating on somebody,” Rhonda shot back, climbing into the car beside Jean.

“Yo, that kid looks crazy familiar. Don’t we know him from somewhere?” Billy asked.

“Probably. He fuck with Sonia from Forty-third and Eighth.” Rhonda smiled triumphantly.

“Hold on, dark-skinned Sonia?” Reese turned around in her seat. “The same Sonia that does your hair?”

“Yep.”

“Rhonda, you ain’t shit.” Billy shook her head.

“Please, she don’t know what to do with him,” Rhonda said. “If she did, he wouldn’t be creeping out of my house.”

“That’s some cold shit.” Jean shook her apple-shaped head. “I thought Sonia was your friend?”

“We cool, but we ain’t like that. She does my hair, but we don’t hang out.”

“Ain’t you got no shame?” Billy asked.

“Shame don’t live here, boo. Besides, that nigga could gag a bitch with all that meat he’s swinging. I had to taste that!” She gave Reese a high five.

“Shameless bitches,” Billy mumbled, putting the car in gear.

On a crisp afternoon in July, Lenox Avenue was popping. Both sides of the strip, between 112th and 116th, were packed with people. Some were on foot, while others were slow coasting in their rides. Shorties were out wearing next to nothing, trying to attract the next up-and-coming ghetto superstar, or style on old flings.