A few feet away from the Narcs is a small tribe of kids with their heads buried in their textbooks. In addition to their love of all things academic, they have an affinity for old-school stuff—like Richard Pryor T-shirts and Nintendo games. I don’t know why, but something about the past seems to make them really happy. So, I call them Vintage.

Standing in the opposite corner are the basketball players and cheerleaders. They don’t get a nickname. God already gave them enough.

I look up at the clock on the wall; class will start soon. I go to unzip my backpack, but I feel a sharp pain just below my shoulder.

“Ow!” I shout as I turn to the desk behind me.

“Hello? I asked you a question,” my best friend, Naija, says. “What are you doing later?”

“Looking for new friends, ones who don’t resort to violence to get my attention,” I grumble as I try to inspect the mark she left on me.

“Girl, I called your name three hundred times. And as usual, you were dumbing out.” I’m sure she only called my name once or twice; Naija’s being extra. It’s her way.

I turn toward her and playfully announce, “Queen Naija, oh great one, I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. Please honor me with your sacred thoughts.”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you wanna come to my house later?”

“I can’t. I’m having dinner with my mom. Tonight’s the night.”

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “You’re gonna tell your mom today? For real this time?”

“Yeah. I have a plan. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Well, knowing your mama, it better be good,” she warns me.

One of the girls from Narc—Joy Mitchell—looks up from her pink compact and calls out to me, “Ayo, I saw the words ‘How Much?’ spray-painted on the back wall of the precinct on One Thirty-Fifth and at the nail shop by my house.”

One of the Knights shouts, “My girl Toni said she saw it on a sticker in front of the post office and the supermarket. And yesterday, I saw it on a banner outside the laundromat.”

“I’ve seen it all over the place too. Girl, your mom knows how to get people’s attention,” Naija adds.

She’s right. My mom knows how to get noticed. She’s responsible for all the spray-painted signs, stickers, and banners throughout Harlem. They all ask the same thing: “How Much?”