Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jamia
“Yeah…”
“Aye, I need you to handle that lil business we talked about a few weeks ago. It’s time. Shit getting out of hand?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I got you…”
“Aye, if I didn’t need you, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“I know. You got a location?”
“We at the park. Edgewood Day.”
“She there?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, you want me to embarrass this bitch.”
“I want you to do what I can’t because I’m a nigga. I’m done giving out passes.”
“I see you in a few. Wait—where are y’all parked?”
“You can’t miss me.”
“It’s like that?”
“Been like that.”
“Bet. I’m finna pull up…”
My momma ended the call with some man who wasn’t my father. I wonder what that was about. She always talked in code and had like six phones.
What did she need that many phones for? I still ain’t figured out what the hell that was about. I stopped asking questions years ago. I looked over at my mama.
“Ma...”
“Hm?”
She looked up at me with that same calm expression she always wore before some bullshit.
“Ma, what we finna do?”
“Jamia, class is in session.” She stood, grabbing her keys.
She stared at one of the six phones spread across the kitchen island, then tossed it into her purse as if nothing had happened.
“Aye, do me a favor and get dressed. All black, everything. I’m finna teach you some shit today, and I want you trained to fucking go. ”
“A heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“I just gave you one.” I stared at her. “I need your eyes up, and no fucking lacking.”
“Okay…”
I went upstairs and changed into a black Alo two-piece set. I should’ve known something was up. My momma had been in the city longer than I expected, and every time I thought she was about to leave, something else kept her there. When I came downstairs, she was waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Damn, it took you long enough.”
“Ma, oh, I didn’t know the clock was ticking.”
“Jamia, come on so I can handle this business before my husband touches down.”
“My father always got eyes on you.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” I shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“Come on. Let’s roll. Grab your helmet.”
“Ma, it’s too hot.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Ma…”
“Trust me, Jamia.”
That was easy for her to say.
“Okay.” I grabbed my helmet. “At least tell me what we’re about to do.”
“We finna put in some work. That’s all you need to know.”
“See, that doesn’t even sound right.”
She ignored me and headed toward the garage. I followed because I had apparently lost my damn mind. My momma tossed me my helmet, then threw one leg over her pink, white, and chrome Kawasaki Ninja. I hated riding with her—not because I feared motorcycles.
I feared her on a motorcycle. My momma rode that damn Ninja like Kawasaki had personally called and told her they needed somebody to test the maximum speed.
“Ma, where are we going?”
“Edgewood... baby.”
“Umm…”
She pulled her helmet down. That ended the conversation.
About forty minutes later, we arrived in Edgewood. I knew we were getting close before I even saw the park. Bass shook the air for blocks. Cars lined both sides of the street, and people spilled onto the sidewalks as grill smoke drifted through the thick summer heat.
The park had tents everywhere. So many damn kids ran around with cups of juice. Grown folks stood laughing, drinking, and catching up. Old schools sat polished in the sun, their candy paint shining like somebody had poured syrup over them.
It was packed. My momma kept circling the block.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
By the fourth time, I knew damn well we weren’t looking for parking.
She was looking for somebody. She finally slowed and stopped directly in front of a candy-red Chevy Chevelle, sitting on some big-ass chrome rims. She killed the engine.
I climbed off behind her. My father gon’ show his ass.
I already knew it. I reached for my helmet.
“Keep that shit on, we finna handle some business.”
I froze. “Ma, it’s hot.”
“I know.” She looked around, then turned back toward me. “You bring the hijab?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to put it on.” I stared at her through the visor. “For what?”
Her mouth curved into a smile. “I told you earlier that class was in session.” Oh, dang.
“No face, no case.”
“Ma…”
“Jamia Leigh.”
At this point, I didn’t even know why I kept asking questions. Clearly, the answers weren’t part of today’s lesson plan. Then a familiar face stepped away from the group gathered around the cars.
Uncle Hood. Now I really knew something was going on. Uncle Hood walked toward us slowly, looking from my momma to me, then to the motorcycle.
Uncle Hood’s face twisted. “So, this what we doing?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
His eyes fell on me again. “Why did you bring her?”
“Because class is in session.”
Uncle Hood stared at my momma for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Nah. See, this is why I almost ain’t call your ass.”
“But you did, multiple times.” My momma took off her gloves. “And I ain’t got all fucking day. Where the fuck is she?”
He looked around, then lowered his voice. “She’s on the other side of the park.”
“Where?”
“By the basketball court, one of the white tents near the fence.”
My momma nodded. “What she got on?”
“Orange.”
“Damn, that’s it? She the only bitch wearing orange.”
“Trust me,” Uncle Hood said, looking her dead in the face. “You’ll know her when you see her.”
“Bet.”
I looked between them. “Can someone tell me what is going on?”
“No,” they answered in unison.
I rolled my eyes. Uncle Hood stepped closer to my momma.
“Aye.”
“What, now, nigga?”
“I need you to handle the shit, not turn Edgewood Day into the motherfucking first forty-eight.”
My momma smiled. “I ain’t making no promises. It’s gon’ be what it’s gon’ be. I know how to conduct business, nigga.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
I snorted.
She shot me a look. I immediately fixed my face. “Go put that shit on,” she told me.
I walked over to Uncle Hood’s Chevy Chevelle, opened the door, and grabbed the black hijab from my bag. I pulled off my helmet long enough to secure it around my head and neck, making sure my hair was completely covered before putting the helmet back on.
When I turned around, Uncle Hood and my momma were still talking. He looked irritated, and she looked calm. That combination never meant anything good.
I walked back toward them.
“You ready?” my momma asked.
“For what?”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
She climbed back onto the Ninja. Before I got on, Uncle Hood caught my arm.
“Jamia.” I looked at him. “Listen to your momma.” I nodded. Then he added, “But use your own damn common sense, too.”
“See!” I pointed at him. “That’s what I’m saying. Y’all got me out here dressed like a ninja, talking about common sense. What are we doing?”
My momma started the motorcycle. The engine roared. “Let’s go, Jamia.”
I looked at Uncle Hood. He shook his head and walked away. My uncle left me for dead. I climbed on behind my momma and wrapped my arms around her waist. She pulled away from Uncle Hood’s Chevelle and headed toward the opposite side of the park.
She wasn’t driving fast this time. She drove slowly, but I noticed she was watching and searching. The crowd grew thicker the closer we got to the basketball courts. Then my momma tapped my leg.
Once.
I knew enough to know I had to pay attention. She slowed the bike. “There, she is,” she said. I followed her gaze. Uncle Hood was on point. The girl was near the white tent, near the fence. She wore a fitted orange dress. I saw her.
My stomach tightened.
“Ma…”
“Yeah?”
“Who is that?”
My momma eased the Ninja toward the curb. She killed the engine, then turned her head just enough for me to hear her.
“Aye, your first lesson begins in a few minutes.”
We hopped off the Ninja and headed toward the tent.
My momma’s aura stood out before she even opened her mouth.
I couldn’t explain it, but whenever she stepped into the scene, heads always turned.
Niggas were looking; catcalls were through the roof.
Hoes were looking. It didn’t matter. All eyes were on her.
Maybe it was the way she walked. Maybe it was her confidence. Or maybe people sensed trouble before it introduced itself. My momma didn’t pay any of them attention. Her eyes stayed locked on that orange dress.
The closer we got to the tent, the more I could feel something shifting. I didn’t even know this lady, but apparently, she had done enough for Uncle Hood to make that phone call. And enough for my momma to drag me forty minutes across the city, dressed like we were about to commit a felony.
The woman in the orange dress had her back to us, talking to somebody when my momma walked straight up and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Aye. You Adrienne?”
The woman turned around and immediately clacked her teeth. “Who wants to know?”
Oh. I felt the energy shift right then. My momma tilted her head, and I knew this was about to get ugly.
“You her, right?”
“Why?”
“Aye, I ain’t finna do all this fucking talking. If you ain’t Adrienne, you finna be that bitch today.”
My eyes widened behind my visor. Well, damn.
“Excuse me?”
“Bitch, you heard what the fuck I said.”
Adrienne looked my momma up and down. “Do I know you?”
“We haven’t officially met.” My momma took a small step closer. “But from what I hear, you’re having a hard time moving the fuck on.”
Adrienne’s face changed—just a little. My momma caught it, too. “So,” she continued, calm as hell, “I’m here to speed up the fucking process.”
“Bitch, what?—”
My momma held one finger up. “Nah. See, that’s lesson number one.”
Adrienne frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
My momma glanced over her shoulder at me. “Jamia Leigh, eyes up.”
Oh, shit. I straightened. She looked back at Adrienne.
“Aye, when a nigga tells you they don’t want you no more, leave him the fuck alone, period. It ain’t no in-between.”
“Hood sent you to do something he and his bitch can’t?” Adrienne argued. Her voice got louder, and she pointed her finger right in my momma’s face.