After dealing with the morning drama, Reese was finally able to get dressed. It was hot out, but her body was way too sore for anything tight. Reese opted for a pair of Nautica sweats, a tank top, and a pair of Air Max. She thought that the drama for the morning had ended with Bone, but as soon as she stepped into the kitchen, her mother started in.

“Didn’t I ask you to stop having that boy calling my phone?” her mother said, pouring a glass of Kool-Aid. Reese’s mother Pat was in her midforties, but was still trying to hold on to her lost youth. She was wearing a pair of spandex pants that did little to hide the lumps in her ass, or control the gut that lapped over the waist.

“Sorry,” Reese mumbled, opening the refrigerator.

“I ain’t playing with you, Shareese. My phone bill is high enough without getting them damn collect calls from jail.”

“He’s on the island, Ma. They use clicks, so it’s not a collect call.”

“Clicks, my ass. It’s my phone and I don’t want that nigga calling,” Pat said with finality.

“It’s your phone, but in Sharon’s name,” Reese mumbled.

“What you say?”

“Nothing, Ma,” Reese lied, and carried her glass into the living room.

Reese’s younger brother, Mel, was sitting on the couch with one of his friends, playing the newest edition of Madden. She could tell from their bloodshot eyes and the empty cookie packages on the coffee table that they were high as kites.

“Damn, do you do anything besides play video games?” Reese asked, flopping on the love seat.

“Do you do anything besides mind people’s business?” Mel shot back, drawing a snicker from his partner. “As long as we’re in conversation mode, was that Don B.’s Hummer I saw you getting out of this morning?”

“Wha … Mel, I know you ain’t spying on me.”

“Nah, sis, I was making a blunt run and I peeped duke’s ride bend the corner. So what’s the deal with y’all two?”

“Ain’t no deal. You need to mind your business.”

“If it ‘ain’t no deal,’ why you getting all defensive?” Mel taunted her.

“Look, Mel, I’m a grown-ass woman and I don’t have to answer to my little brother,” Reese said sternly.

“She tight, son,” Mel’s friend said, then laughed, thumbing the controller.

“Fuck you, ya little burn-out muthafucka,” she addressed him. “Mel, you need to be more selective about the company you keep.”

Mel paused the game and gave Reese his undivided attention. “I know you ain’t talking, with your Rat Pack-ass crew. Fucking Yoshi and Rhonda, give me a break!”

“Son, you talking about Yoshi from One Forty-seventh? Yo, I heard that bitch got some mean head,” Mel’s friend spoke up.