Yeah, I’m done. I drag myself up off the beanbag. “Lots of people are standing up. It’s on TV every night.”

“I know. Look at what’s going on with the Kings. We’re looking at gang members turned resistance fighters.”

“And getting arrested left and right.”

“Hey, Tyrell,” Robb calls. “Tyrell!”

Tyrell pulls off his headphones. “What?” He’s annoyed, and at the moment I don’t blame him.

“Kings versus cops. Who comes out on top?”

“That’s a stupid question,” he says. He shoots me a look that’s half sympathetic, half baffled. Headphones back in place.

Robb waves his hand. “Say what you want about me being white. At least I care about what’s happening. I’ll be at the march, with bells on.”

“With bells on? You’re going to bring superfluous metal objects to a public demonstration?” I force a grin. “Don’t stand next to me, white boy.”

Robb laughs. I slap the doorframe on my way out of the room.

TYRELL

They don’t know. They can’t know. They dip into this movement like they are going for a swim. Put on the right suit, slick your hair back, and glide. Tip your head at just the right moment for a breath above the surface, cry out “Justice!” Keep your arms and legs moving, feel the burn in your muscles like you’re doing some good.…

My arms flail. My legs flail. They don’t know. They can’t know. The full burn. The feeling. Of drowning.

ZEKE

I swing by Carl’s barbershop for a shape up. Kimberly’s bound to like the clean-cut type, based on the way she dresses. I can do clean-cut.

I own jeans, T-shirts, polos, a couple button downs, one blazer.

“Why you suddenly so big on the outfits?” my sister asks. I’ve got her in my room looking at the combinations with me.

“Just help me out, would you? Do me a solid for once. No commentary.”

Monae’s eyes narrow. “Who is she?”

“Shut up.”

The items on the bed look like a bunch of fabric to me. I can tell which ones go on which half of my body, but that’s where my fashion talents end.

“Do I know her?”

“Monae.”

“Do you want my help or not? I need to know who it is so I can dress you right.”

Sigh. That makes a certain amount of sense. I’m reluctant to admit it, though. Monae has a sly look about her. “You’re just being nosy.”

“Price of admission.”

“I never said there was anyone.”

Her brow arches. “Deductive reasoning. You suddenly care about clothes, there’s a woman in the picture.” She eyes me up and down. “Would I like her?”

“You don’t like anybody,” I chide.

She laughs. “Nothing wrong with having high standards.”

I pick up a polo and settle it inside the blazer.

Monae howls. “Boy, you are hard up.”