There was a long pause. “I guess it’s all right, then. It seems a little funny, but if they can do it … Don’t want you sitting up at school all by yourself while all your friends go off.” His father’s voice grew gruff. “And we can’t afford to rent a car again just now. So you go on and have a good time.”

“Thanks, Dad.” As Rashid hung up, he realized that for the first time in months, his father had wished him well.

★     ★     ★

Gerald’s dad, a lawyer, picked them up at the airport. Their car was nice, but not more than Rashid had expected. Mr. Davis was a bluff, friendly sort, obviously crazy about his son and willing to like anyone he brought home as a friend. Rashid felt an odd twist in his heart at the long, manly hug Gerald and his father exchanged at the gate. But he swallowed twice and busied himself with his luggage, not wanting to look weird.

But then the house. Rashid had never had a friend who lived like this—a separate bedroom for each child and a lawn and so new, so new and quiet. No roach would dare live there.

Gerald, chatting to his father, didn’t seem to notice Rashid’s sudden discomfort as they walked into the house. Every room had thick, soft carpet, and everywhere Rashid looked, there were beautiful, obviously expensive things. African-looking paintings and sculptures on the wall and, well … it was really something. Something to stand in a house like this and know that it belonged to someone black. It’s not like he didn’t know this existed but damn … now that he was standing here … Damn.

“Rashid, I’m so pleased to meet you.”

A voice like music cut into his silence. Rashid turned around and there was the most beautiful black woman he’d ever seen smiling at him. She was older, a mom’s age, like forty or something, but her skin was smooth, like chocolate cream, and she had the warmest brown eyes and a short haircut that made her look like she’d stepped out of one of his mother’s issues of Essence. A girl of about ten, still just a kid but with the promise of being just as beautiful, stood next to her, staring at him. “I’m Gerald’s mother. And this is his sister, Kim.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Davis. Hi, Kim.” He hoped he didn’t look too thunderstruck. He’d never met anyone’s mother who looked like her.

“Gerald, why don’t you show Rashid your room?”

Gerald picked up his bag and said, “Come on, man,” and they went upstairs, their feet hushed by the carpet.

“Well, here it is, man. My domain—when I’m home, anyway. You can have that bed.” He tossed his bags down wearily and flopped onto the bed after them. “It’s nice to be home.”