11. Psalm #2
"I don't know, bro — he's got a serial killer vibe going," Christian continued, still on the subject of Alonse.
I grabbed my stacked plate and virgin Bahama Mama and posted up near the bar seating.
My mother had the pool area — including the pool house — designed like a luxury vacation in Tahiti.
It was the perfect place to decompress, except my homeboy was actively killing the vibe talking about my strange ass cousin.
Honestly, everything I knew about Alonse was surface level — enough to sense that something traumatic had shaped him without wanting to go down that rabbit hole.
He had agoraphobia, and from what his mother told mine, it developed from years of never being socially accepted.
I also knew from family gossip that his parents split around the time he was fifteen or sixteen.
Something about him getting mixed up with the wrong crowd.
My family hadn’t settled in Havenbrook yet at the time of Alonse’s parents separation and my mother never pressed for the full story.
"And what's with the thick ass socks?"
"Bro," I snorted. "Chill — that man wouldn't bust a grape."
Another conversation nearby had quietly pulled at my attention. Not because I had any interest in the people having it. More because I didn't like what I was hearing.
"Who's that Dave East looking nigga?" I asked Christian.
"That's Nazir. Why?"
"Who's his people?" I asked, burning a hole through who I now knew as Nazir's chest with my eyes.
"The Clarkes," Christian clarified.
The game that won me twelve hundred dollars earlier had been a friendly bet between me and my homeboy Duck.
I'd known Duck since preschool and although he didn't hold Christian's status as my right hand, I trusted him.
Which is why I hadn't questioned who he brought to my crib to round out his team.
He already knew what kind of man I was. Anyone who disrespected my home — the place my mother laid her head — wouldn't leave functioning the same way they arrived.
That's if they left with the ability to function at all.
"You good, bro? Why you looking at him like that?"
I knew Christian was talking but didn't hear a word because I was already fixated on the idea of punching ole boy directly in his face.
"Man, I'm telling you — I'm on Juliet Everette this semester," Nazir leaned back in one of the chairs, grinning.
One of the guys laughed. "Juliet? Naz, please. You couldn't bag her if she came sealed and delivered to your doorstep."
"She mean and her brother will beat the shit out of you," another chimed in.
"Man, fuck y'all. I already stepped to her at Flip'd a minute ago. She as good as gave me the green light," Nazir flexed.
"Okay then, Naz — I see you, my boy. Didn't peg you for the courting type," Duck dapped him.
Court? My baby? I'd love to see him try that with two broken legs.
"I ain't — but if there's one thing my pops taught me, it's that love is business. Make the right business decision and you'll live happily ever after."
"What does that even mean?" Duck asked.
Christian started to respond, trying to end the conversation but I tapped his chest quickly. I wanted to hear this myself.
"Dating her alone gets me a top line spot with Mu Beta Xi when pledging opens — guaranteeing me a strong foot in the door in the law field.
I'll propose right before law school, but only after I get her pregnant.
Her pops has a basketball empire, her mom is a legend in the acting world and all three of her brothers are billionaire celebrities.
Gotta keep that kind of money attached to my family name permanently," he said, slapping five with what appeared to be one of his lap dogs.
My jaw locked and my blood went cold. The Clarkes were known schemers — so the ignorance in his words didn't surprise me.
"Naz, you'll be a dead man before you can even take that girl on a date," Duck laughed.
"How you gonna communicate with her non-hearing ass anyway? She probably sounds like a seal when she's fucking." His lap dog clapped his hands together and made seal noises.
Yeah. It's time for them to go.
Nazir frowned. "Shut up, dummy. She can hear — sometimes — I think. And all my girls sound like some kind of animal when I'm hitting it from the back."
Between the laughter and Nazir's physical imitation, my skin tightened. Everything around me went black and white except him. He was in full color. Unmistakably my target. My glass hit the bar counter before I realized I'd let it go, sending everyone's attention in my direction.
"Aye, what's good, P?" Christian asked, voice heavy with concern.
I stared at my target, venom pouring from my eyes. Then I glanced at Duck and the rest of the group.
"Party's over," I said flatly.
"P, you serious? For what?" Duck asked.
"Dead ass — and because I don't want to have to break your homeboy's jaw."
Nazir laughed uncertainly. "Nigga, what the fuck for? I know the popular Psalm ain't tripping over pussy. She ain't yours."
My legs began carrying me toward him, eyes never blinking. Nazir may have been top dog in his circle — but in the lion's den, I was king.
"Because I said so," I said, my voice dropping low.
He must have thought I was joking because concern never reached his face.
Not until I pushed the table out from between us.
Food, drinks and expensive tableware hit the ground.
My mother was going to kill me — but it would be a small price for this opportunity.
Realizing I wasn't stopping until our foreheads were touching, Nazir stood and squared his posture, ready to defend himself.
"Aye yo, Psalm — I was just talking. Ain't even that serious, unless she's yours or something."
Not in the business of explaining myself, I said nothing.
Five feet away from rearranging his face, I took a quick glance down to make sure my sneakers were tied.
I'd be damned if I lost a fight in my own house because a loose lace sent me sideways.
It wasn't until I came out of my retro jersey that it registered to this clown exactly what was about to happen.
"Aight, I don't want no problems," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then he glanced down at my wrist, where my G-Shock rested, with a smirk. "I just got my AP, fixed."
Oh, this nigga thinks he's funny.
"You know what they say about a broken watch?" I asked.
"That it's right twice a day," he replied, vexed.
"No. That it's on the wrist of a broke nigga. Now get your barely making ends meet ass out of my house."
He hit me with the coldest look as he gathered his things. Everyone else — excluding Christian — followed suit, reading the room correctly. Within seconds the pool area was cleared of guests but the tension stayed right where it was.
"You want to explain to me what the hell all that was about?" Christian asked.
"No."
"I'll tell you what it was about." Alonse's voice came from behind his book. "He likes the young lady that fool was plotting on. You should have broken his jaw, little cousin."
Christian looked over. "You were going to jump in, Alonse?"
"Quite the contrary, young tike. I've had quite enough of Havenbrook and its devilishly charming women," he said, closing his notebook and heading toward the house.
Christian and I looked at each other.
The hell did he mean by that?