I gave her my undivided attention then, because I wanted to know too.

“He live on my floor,” Tonya told her, her eyes still on Barbie.

“On the ten?” Stacia asked.

Tonya nodded.

Then Stacia sang, in a snotty voice, “Tonya from the Ten. That’s what we gone call you. I hope you don’t think you the only Tonya in this building.” She laughed a little, then told her, “Everybody got your name.” I frowned at her. Tonya didn’t seem to care, but I knew, even back then, that something about this nickname was an insult.

None of us had a close relationship with those other Tonyas. One of them was three years old, a younger sibling of our classmate. Another was some older lady who lived by herself, had no kids, and most people turned their noses up at because she kept to herself and wouldn’t tell anyone her business. The third Tonya I could think of hung out in the playground with Stacia’s older sisters, was some gangster’s girl. I guess Tonya was just one of those names. All of those Tonyas were attractive, the last thing you wanted to be if you were a girl living in the hood.

I chose to believe what Tonya said, that Nook lived in an apartment on the tenth floor, that she knew him because he was her neighbor. The other option, that she—a twelve-year-old—had a personal relationship with this grown man, who was a drug dealer and gangster, was too much to handle.

After giving Tonya a new name, Stacia seemed proud of herself and done with us.

An awkward tightness swirled around. Before I could fix it, Stacia told us, “Y’all boring!” and hopped up and stomped out of the room and eventually the front door. We heard it slam. Mama ran into the hallway, and Meechie’s door opened.

“Stacia left,” I explained.

Mama said, “Okay.” Then it was quiet again. I looked at Tonya sitting in the corner, stroking Barbie’s hair. I sat down there next to her.

“You can have it, if you want.”

She looked over at me and smiled, then nodded. I’d seen a glimpse of this smile a few times throughout the day, but in my room, holding that doll, it was strong, unfiltered, and it lingered for longer than a few seconds. I think that’s the moment I decided that I wanted to make her smile as much as possible.

“You so nice,” she said. Then I smiled. “How come you friends with Stacia?”

Before I could answer, Mama came into my room to give us a motivational speech. I always thought that Mama missed her calling as an educator. She reminded me so much of Ms. Pierce the way she was always correcting our grammar and uplifting everyone, but she used those skills as a homemaker, trying her best to raise two kids by herself in a war zone.