It felt like he was talking to a wider audience than me. His usual lecture energy had returned.

Too bad the guy who betrayed him was the only one around to hear it. “I should get going, MJ.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry to unload on you like that. Enjoy your lunch.”

He went back to the whiteboard, scrawling notes for his next class. I could tell he’d already moved on from the dismantling of Healthy Living. He’d washed his hands of it.

Somehow, I knew I’d have a much harder time.

In that Thursday Pledge session after my conversation with MJ, and before my night with Kiera, everything felt too fragile. I kept watching the door of the Pledge room, expecting Pastor Newsome to swoop in at any time and cast me out of the Lord’s House for my impropriety. He got the scoop on Healthy Living from me. He didn’t need me anymore.

We never saw Newsome that evening, though I kept looking over my shoulder even on my way out the door. When someone called my name, my brain turned that person into Newsome. I spun around, queasy.

It was Mya. “Hey, Del, wait a second.”

“What’s up?”

She fished something out of her bag, handed it over. “Here.”

A comic book. Shuri, issue #1. Black Panther’s sister in her own standalone book. This was unexpected.

“It’s about a black woman by a black woman, so I bet you haven’t read it.”

That sounded harsh. I’d been meaning to pick it up. “This is what we’re doing now? Trading passive-aggressive recommendations. If so, you should read—”

“Please don’t say Batman. All you boys love Batman.”

“Have you given Tower of Babel a try? Batman’s plans take down the whole Justice League!”

She groaned, pointed at her gift. “If you read that, I might consider a Batman book. Maybe. I want a book report on my desk by Monday.” She kept on to her rust-bucket car.

“Mya! For real, why you give me this?”

“Good conversation the other night. Don’t necessarily like what you said, but figured I might show you the light. See you in school.”

Then she was gone, and I was driving Jameer home, that issue of Shuri resting on my backseat. For later.

Off church grounds, I started to relax a bit.

That wasn’t the truth. I was getting excited.

“You know the plan?” I asked Jameer, wanting no confusion over the explicit instructions I’d given him.

“Mister Westing will bring me and Kiera to the restaurant, where you’ll be waiting. We’ll order an appetizer. I’ll eat my portion quickly, then excuse myself to the bathroom, but really I’ll step outside while you continue to chat her up. Eventually, she’ll start to wonder where I am, at which point”—he snatched that clamshell phone of his from his pocket for review—“sorry, how’s this part supposed to work?”

I kept it cool, didn’t let any annoyance slip into my voice. “I’m going to send you a text when she gets antsy. That’s when you text her, and say . . . ?”