“We’re going to make sure that Meridien sees the real Elijah. The Elijah I know,” I tell him. “I can’t do anything about what happened twenty years ago, other than make sure as many people as possible know the real story, but I can see to it that no one makes the mistake of judging you ever again.”

Elijah reaches for me and holds my fingers in his. “Thank you.”

“I won’t let them underestimate you, either,” I tell him. “There’s way more to you than your last name. And everyone ought to see that.”

Elijah leans forward and his soft lips find mine, our fingers still holding on tightly to each other. With his other hand, he grasps the hem of my T-shirt.

I reach my arm around his waist and pull him closer to me.

“You deserve at least that much,” I say when we break apart.

· twenty-eight ·

ELIJAH

It’s homecoming morning, three weeks since the big prank. I walk the block and a half from our apartment on Hugo Street to Rudy Street with Coley in tow, the garter I’ve made for Julian on a metal hanger.

“Uncajulian likes flowers?” Coley asks, her dark French braids bouncing on her head as she skips up Ms. Birdie’s front stoop.

“He’ll like these,” I tell her.

Ms. Birdie opens the door before I ring the bell. “There’s my sweet baby girl! Come on in here, you two.” She stands aside and lets us in. Coley runs to the kitchen and puts her princess lunch box in the refrigerator.

“G’morning, Birdie,” Coley says, wrapping her arms around Ms. Birdie’s thighs and squeezing hard.

“We’re going to have us some fun today, girl,” Ms. Birdie says. “Go on and find Uncle Julian for me, okay?”

Ms. Birdie turns to me and gives me a hug. “Let me see those flowers, now.… Oooooh! Elijah! You’ve outdone yourself,” she says.

“I found him!” Coley yells, pulling Julian down the hallway toward the kitchen, where I’m waiting for him.

“You sure did!” Julian says, carrying a gold-and-white garter in his arms.

I help him into his, making sure it’s tight on his bicep over his football jersey. He helps me into mine, adjusting it so it doesn’t cover my football number.

“I’ve got to get a picture of this,” Ms. Birdie announces, pointing her cell phone at us. We pose at the front door, our arms around each other’s shoulders, showing off our homecoming mums.

“You look like you’re going to get married!” Coley singsongs, dancing around us at the front door.

We all laugh, and Ms. Birdie sends us out the door. “I’ll see you both at the Taylor game tonight! Miss Coley and I are picking up your mom and Frankie at five o’clock,” she says to me.