Mom’s phone buzzed, and she read the incoming text. “‘At Waffle House. Be home later.’”

“How am I supposed to get to school?”

Mom, ice cold, said, “The bus still stops at the corner. I’m having coffee. Anyone else want some?”

Chapter 15

QWAN CAUGHT UP TO ME in school, and risked his life by asking, “How was the bus?”

“Rolling purgatory. How the hell did you get here?” I’d been cranky when I texted him the bad news about my thieving sister this morning. Suspicious when he responded with a calm “ok, see you in class.”

“Angie’s van. It’s all hers, D. Her uncle gave it to her because it’s like half-a-deathtrap. But she watched YouTube videos and taught herself to fix it.”

Jealousy gnawed. “You could’ve told her to come pick me up.”

“Maybe, but then she might’ve been weird about us making out in the ride before homeroom. Bro, there’s like a whole couch in that thing.”

“Judas.”

“I can’t believe Cressie’s back again. You think she missed me?”

“No.”

“How she looking?”

“Bitch, that’s my sister!”

“So . . . good?”

“I haven’t seen her, Qwan.” Perhaps the snap in my voice was as horrible as I imagined. He flinched. Backed off the totally irritating questions for the kind-of-irritating ones. “She gonna let you have the ride back for your thing with Kiera tonight?”

Who knew? Since Cressie’s last update to Mom, she hadn’t responded to any of my extremely detailed texts explaining my dire need.

Qwan, maybe sensing the land mine his foot hovered over, moved on. “You thought about how you gonna kick your game tonight?”

His assumption that I’d still make my date, and that I’d have the opportunity to work things in my favor, was comforting. The power of positive thinking, right? My best plan: “Go on the offensive. No more passive plans, or schemes, or whatever.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, D. Look, when you get seated at the restaurant, you gotta make it seem like you’re used to this sort of thing, though. Take charge. Girls like that. Say something like hey, the hush puppies are great here. I’m going to order you some.”

“Does that place have hush puppies?”

“Don’t matter. The idea is you’re in control. She don’t even have to worry about trivial stuff like ordering her own food when you’re around.”

Even I knew enough to know how dumb that sounded. First of all, Qwan might be a sexual dynamo, but the number of date-dates he’d been on . . . questionable. “Where did you get that from?”

“Saw it in a movie.”

Wonderful. “Did it work with Angie?”

Qwan shrugged. “She don’t like hush puppies.”

When asked about the possibility of borrowing one of their cars, each of my parents took the time to remind me, in their own special way, about the difference between my automobile-related expenses and my recent income. Of course I tried Dad first, hoping for a little understanding. His rejection was gentle. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t want your mom to kill me.”