She thumped harder. “Come on, girl! It’s hotter than a Baptist revival out here! Stop playing around!” she protested. “You can at least give me some tea!”

Exhausted, Kai leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the storm door. The trip back was going to be unpleasant at best. She had to stop leaving the house without cash.

“Bitch, do I look like a zoo animal?” Sol joked, opening her front door and unlatching the door. “Niggas think that just because they knock on glass, a bitch is supposed to do flips and wave.”

“Well, you were in a cage once,” Kai retorted, stepping into the house. Sol sneered, closing the door and heading to the kitchen. Kai remained in the living room, staring up in disbelief. Elaine, the name of Sol’s grandmother, was tagged all over the ceiling. The strokes were messy and unstylized, some real amateur shit.

“Do you really want tea, or were you just hitting me with the kryptonite?” Sol asked from the kitchen.

“I’ll take anything.”

“Tea it is.”

Kai watched as Sol poured the glass slowly, deliberately, a technician at work. Masterfully, she left room for ice then grabbed the glass and tenderly pressed the ice dispenser embedded in the fridge. The ice tumbled down without a single splash. She was good. She’d probably been pouring a lot of drinks lately, Kai realized.

Kai left the kitchen, diving into the couch, her neck parallel with the seat, her arms spread wide like she was hugging a bookshelf.

“What do you want?” Sol demanded, standing over Kai.

“I want a few things. First, I really want that tea.”

Sol obliged, handing over the glass. Kai shot up, taking the glass and promptly emptying it down her throat.

“Second, I need you to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“About this,” Kai said, gesturing at torn drywall, ripped carpet, gutted wires jutting out of the wall, and, of course, that ceiling. “You opening a skate park?”

“No, but I’m getting rid of this dump.”

“Are you crazy? This house is great.”

“It’s all right. I can do better.”

“Better than a paid off house at eighteen? Just a month ago, you were talking about how cheap you’re living and about how the next round of improvements will be some HGTV shit. What happened?”

“I called my parents every day after Derrick came by, and they haven’t answered a single fucking time.”

“Not once?”

“Not twice either.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“So how does that make you feel?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“Your call. Well, let’s talk about how you keep blowing me off.”

“What’s there to talk about?”