It’s not just the thing that happened in the basement that upsets me, it’s Devonte. I’m replaying when he first stepped to me. I can’t believe I was too dumb to see it before. That smile, those eyes, and the tilt of his head . . . he was playing me. All he wanted was to get that stupid letter signed.

Then why did he ask me to the party even after he got what he wanted?

I hear a faint whisper, but I’m too deep in thought to really focus on it. The questions surrounding Devonte’s intention invade my mind. How could I be so stupid? He was never checking for me.

“Ayo!” someone shouts as they practically slam into me. I look up.

Devonte.

“I’ve been calling your name for two blocks, girl, you deaf?” he asks.

“What do you want?”

He steps back as if my words have physically moved him. “Yo, why you mad at me? I wasn’t the one who brought that girl.”

“Why did you ask me to hang out?” I demand.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I roll my eyes, but mostly at myself. Seriously, what the hell was I thinking? I start walking again. He follows again.

“Tell me, why did you ask me here today—and don’t say you don’t know,” I say.

He takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. His beautiful eyes off to the side, he mumbles, “I wanted to hang out with you.”

“Why? You don’t even like me.”

“Who said that?”

“The only reason you hit me up was because of the letter. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His silence is so loud that it nearly makes my ears bleed. I’m an idiot. Here I was thinking I was on the verge of a social life, when in fact I was just a means to an end. I am not going to cry.

Okay, I will cry, but not right now. I will hold it until I am alone. I pick up the pace. But all my efforts are in vain, because his stride is infinitely longer than mine.

“Damn you and your J. J. Walker legs!” I shout.

He laughs. “Good Times, right? Man, my grandma used to love that show. She’d make me watch the reruns with her. What’s up with calling the show Good Times? I mean, they ain’t never had any . . .”

“I know, right? Did you see that dog food episode—”

“Yo, I did! That was crazy.”

“And what about the time— Wait! No. We’re not doing this. We’re not bonding over Good Times.”

“Why?”

I stop walking and face him. “Because you used me.”

He lowers his head and nods. It hurts. I was kind of hoping, despite everything, that he’d have some kind explanation. He doesn’t.

“So the only reason you were checking for me was because of the track team?”

He nods.