Mya looked put out, like she’d wholly expected our conversation to continue . . . or at least officially end. Nope.

At the back of the restaurant, out of Tyrell’s sights, Qwan splayed in a booth like it was his living room couch. Ball cap cocked, blue hoodie jacket, matching LeBrons with laces loose in a way that would make me lose a shoe.

He dripped swag, as usual. Made lounging in a fast-food joint look like a mixtape cover. Made me want to be free of my trash uniform so I could do the same. But, money. I squeezed extra water from my mop and did the thing.

Qwan lifted a foot away from my swishing mop head. “Tyrell really still tripping about those nasty Cra-Burgers?”

“You stole food. You were wrong, dude.”

He flopped back, hands behind his head to support the wide grin on his face. “It was so worth it, though. I bet you wish you’d done it.”

The “it” he was referring to . . . he’d given that food away to a couple of bad Carolina girls who’d crossed the southern Virginia border into our part of the world for . . . reasons. I’d been working the drive-thru the night it happened. Tyrell caught him immediately. Fired him immediately. From my window perch, I watched Qwan stroll into the parking lot, FISHto shirt untucked and flapping in the wind like an action movie hero walking away from an explosion. He enthusiastically accepted a ride from the grateful ladies. What he said happened after that, I want to believe it’s a lie, because if it’s not a lie, it makes him a legend.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I know it’s not to eat.”

“Hell naw. I should whistle-blow on this place. Tell the Environmental Protection Agency or something. I walked all the way up here to find out what happened with Kiera. You make a move?”

A particularly sticky milkshake stain snatched my attention.

“D,” Qwan said. “No.”

My mopping trajectory shifted and I left him in the booth. “I didn’t punk out. Timing wasn’t right.”

On his feet, he paced me. “Timing? If you didn’t do it now, it might already be too late. Kiera Westing is Green Creek’s Most Wanted.”

“You don’t think I know that? It’s different this time.”

“Damn right. Because if you’re not going to step to her, I might. That girl is fire.”

I whacked him across the chest with my mop handle. He raised his hands in surrender. “Joke, joke. I know Bro Code’s in effect here. Alls I’m saying is—”

“I’m working on it. See, we’re both in the Purity Pledge at church now. That’s going to give me some time with her.” Working backward, tracing big wet arcs along the perpetually filthy tile, I left a cock-eyed Qwan stone-still on the other side of a widening soap-and-water moat. He shook off the momentary freeze and stamped alternating sets of Nike swooshes across my floor to rejoin me.