The next morning I showered, dressed, and was on my way to the library when I got a text from Mister Rules Tyrell.

Tyrell: Del, hey, you’ve been asking for more hours, and Stu called in with the flu. Could really use you on the day shift.

Me: That’s a pass for me, Tyrell. Got plans.

All those times he sent me home and I’m supposed to be On-Demand Del now? Naw. Didn’t give Tyrell or FISHto’s a second thought. I arrived at the library five minutes after opening, thinking I was being early, but found the Purity Pledgers had beat me there. All of them.

Kiera sat on the library steps chatting with her girls. Ralph and Bobby hovered to the side, slapboxing childishly. Jameer greeted me as I approached. I said, “What’s this?”

“I worked it out.”

“Worked what out?” I’d forgotten his proposition of finding transportation for all. Still didn’t get it until the van showed up.

The dull gold-and-maroon paint job, faded down to gray splotches in some spots, was unmistakable. As it coasted over a speed bump, the suspension squeaked and set the whole thing bouncing like a soap bubble on a breeze.

Qwan leaned from the passenger window, slapping the door like a set of bongos. “What up, peeps!”

The van came to a full stop. Angie clutched the wheel, smiling wide, and then not. Taylor and Colossus had been the hot drama in the Green Creek halls, but Taylor wasn’t the reason Kiera’s long-term relationship ended. That . . . was Angie.

Kiera stood among her girls, arms crossed. Jaw clenched.

I said, “Jameer. What did you do?”

“Made a way.” He slid the van door open on a squeaky track.

The younger Pledgers looked to him, to me, and, for the final verdict, to Kiera, with the glossy, hopeful looks of kids asking if they can have ice cream.

“Go on,” Kiera said, little enthusiasm in her voice.

The girls piled into the van, as did Jameer. Knowing no other option existed but to roll with this, I moved to my car.

Kiera . . . did not. She approached the van.

“Kiera?”

“I’m going where my girls go, Del.”

“But . . .” My Hawaiian Breeze air freshener! Hey, it’s what I thought! What I actually said, “Is that a good idea?”

She patted my chest, determined. “It’ll be fine. It’s only an hour drive. We’ll see you there.”

Kiera climbed into the van, closed the door behind her. Leaving me with the Burton Brothers, who vibrated with excitement as they rushed my car.

“Just the fellas!” Ralph said, clutching his backpack to his chest instead of utilizing the shoulder straps like a normal person.

Bobby said, “Yo, Del, we can play our mixtape for you. We got bars!”

“Your mixtape?”

Oh God.

I stopped counting time and began measuring the infinite trip in songs—nine so far—as the “R&B” (get it?) mixtape stretched on and on. It was everything I feared and more. Trash raps, off-key singing, amateur homemade beats. One song—a love song—was called “Blood Ain’t Thicker Than Booty.”