“They’re out shopping. I’ll text if they’re not back when I leave.”

“Mom’s not going to like that. She’s been a bag of nerves since you went away.”

Cressie sat her tripod upright, snapped her camera onto its mount. “Stop exaggerating.”

“She misses you, is all.”

“Nice to know someone does.”

I nodded. “Fine, fine. Dad misses you, too.”

She cocked her fist for another punch, and I grinned wide. Instead of hitting me, she said, “Cornball.”

“So what’s the other thing?”

“Huh?”

“You said you came home because some things came up.”

“Oh!” She dropped to the floor, in her backpack again. Please God, no journal articles! A moment later, she handed me several sheets of paper and I thought the Lord had forsaken me. But, each page was the same. Flyers. The header read:

“Jaylan Knows” LIVE!

Part of the Award-Winning Commonwealth University Lecture Series

“What is this?” I asked.

“Only my favorite YouTuber and the inspiration for FemFam Presents is coming to campus next week. I’ve been volunteering with the Student Government Association on planning this lecture series. It’s the first time the school’s brought in someone who’s not like a civil rights activist, or famous writer, so it’s important that we have a good turnout. I dropped in on some of my counterparts at NSU, and ODU, and HU, and . . . well, you’re going to have to put some gas in the car, Del. Sorry.”

“Seriously?” I reviewed the flyer more carefully. Jaylan had an angular face, short hair, shaved on one side—now Cressie’s haircut made more sense—and a wide smile. It was a good-looking picture, confident. I guess you’d have to be if you’re proclaiming to the world you KNOW.

Cressie went on, “Her videos are amazing. Timely and topical in a way that’s so compelling.”

Whatever. My car was back. “I’m sure you’re going to have a great time. Tell me all about it over Thanksgiving turkey. Have a safe trip back to school, Cressie.”

I gave her a limp, one-armed hug, and was down the stairs, still unclear on Jaylan’s particular area of expertise.

Though, not for long.

At the nearest Exxon, I wedged the gas nozzle into my tank and let it autofill, leaned on my trunk, while shaping my evening via text.

Me: I got the ride back. You trying to roll tonight?

Qwan: My bad, bro. Made plans with Angie.

Me: You’re whipped.

When he didn’t respond, I took that as confirmation that he was indeed whipped.

The gas nozzle thunked off—THIRTY-FOUR DOLLARS was the tab, damn Cressie! Almost my entire take from tutoring Shianne.

Oh. Shianne.

Me: Hey, you down for some “tutoring” tonight?

Shianne: Come by. I’ll show you how to change a diaper.

Me: On second thought . . .

Shianne: Come over PLEEEEZZZZEEE!

Why not? The weekend had been plenty crappy anyway. What was a diaper going to hurt?

Chapter 18

MISTER AND MISSUS GRIFFITHS GREETED me at the door, and Shi’s dad slipped a fifty-dollar bill in my shirt pocket for my service.