I tried to walk back down to the third floor, but I felt so tired. I looked over at the elevator; there was no way I was getting on there alone. I knew what happened to girls in there. That’s when I thought about Stacia, remembering how when I’d first noticed her, she was in the elevator. I missed her, so I turned around and started walking up the stairs. She was mad at me, but I was going to her apartment anyway.

Twelve
1502

Right before I got to 1502, where all those Buchanans lived, I slowed down. I was getting scared. Who would answer the door? And what would Stacia say to me when she saw me? I didn’t really have a plan, but I needed her, so I knocked. Jet, the baby of the family, was the only human walking around so early in the morning. His little voice asked, “Who is it?” I could imagine him arching shoulders back, pushing his chest forward to sound bigger.

“Fe Fe,” I said, then added, “for Stacia.” He opened the door.

“She sleep. Want me to get her?” Before I could decide what to tell him, he was halfway down the hall that led to their room. It’s how he got the nickname Jet. I still don’t know that boy’s real name. I stood there a second, unsure whether or not I should go in. I peeked around the corner and decided I would, but stopped when I saw her brother, Sweat, knocked out, most of his body on the couch, but an uncomfortable amount hanging off. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and had on these boxer shorts. I could see his erection straining against the fabric.

That’s when I regretted walking in their apartment, but it was too late. I turned to leave but was too fascinated by everything in their living room. On the wall were velvet pictures in rich colors of Black people as kings and queens and Black people dancing at some old-time party and naked Black people just standing around in nature. I was confused when I felt sensations between my legs.

I glanced back over at Sweat, and the lump poking against his shorts. I took in the rest of his body. His chest strong, like something you could break glass over. He had arms that looked like somebody drew them. His legs, sculptures falling off the couch. I wouldn’t forget this image for years; Sweat Buchanan was the first boy I ever had dreams about. My body warmed all of a sudden.

There was a long bar counter in the living room. It looked as if somebody would show up and ask me if I wanted a drink. The Buchanans had just as many bottles of alcohol as Food & Liquor. I hopped up on one of the stools and sat there, stealing glances at Sweat, hoping he wouldn’t wake up and catch me being a creep.