“Good,” Dre continues. “I don’t want to have to fly all da way up dere ta knock somebody out fa breaking yo heart.” He takes another swig from Colt.

I think about Bryce and imagine Dre confronting him, which would be ten times worse than all of Earnell’s antics combined.

“You think I could get into community college or somethin’?” Rone asks. “I ain’t dat smart like you. Seems like you cain’t really do nothin’ wit no degree. And I’on wanna be on da block foreva. I jus’ been thinkin’.”

“Of course!” I say with glee. “It’s never too late, but you gotta get a GED first. You can even transfer to a four-year college once you finish at the community college. There are lots of options. It’s all up to you. I’m going to visit Tarver tomorrow—maybe you come with me and then we can head to Cleveland Community College after?”

“Dats just like you, Keisha. Goin’ ta school while you on break from school.” Dre shakes his head.

“Oh, befo’ I forget,” he continues, “we got you something. Don’t let this go to yo head, it’s big enough as it is, but we are really proud of you, sis. You always been on dis path. You said you was gone get out and you did. Here.”

Dre pulls a small package wrapped in red Christmas paper with little Santas on it. “It’s not much,” Dre says, “but we picked it out together. Hope you like it.”

I stare down at the gift and fight back tears. “Ya’ll wrapped it?”

“Yea,” Rone says. “We wanted it to look nice. We ain’t wanna give you no bootleg present like Mom and Dad used to give us.”

I want to tell them everything right then and there. How I tried, but actually haven’t made it. How I had them in mind the whole time I was there as motivation to keep going. So much of me was doing it for them. How Dartmouth was harder than I could have ever imagined and not just the coursework, but everything. Trying to fit in a white world. Trying to get white boys, or any boys, to like this dark skin. Trying to understand all the new customs and cultural differences while battling mental illness. It was like going to an alien world where the aliens look like you but are nothing like you.

I start to panic. My breath quickens. Tears threaten to pour at any moment. Every emotion I have been suppressing since I came home bubbles to the surface. I can’t keep lying. I’m a terrible person. This is awful. I close my eyes, waiting for my other life.

“Open it, Keisha,” Rone says.