“Tracy.” Angela pushes away from Jamal, fixing her skirt and wiping her lips.
This has to be Jamal’s greatest flaw: a girlfriend for every day of the week and of every race. He doesn’t think twice about who he’s talking to. Society’s double standard. Jamal knows he’d give me a hard time if things were turned around.
“Hmm.” I scowl and raise an eyebrow. “How long’s this been going on?”
Jamal doesn’t answer, so I turn to Angela. “And shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Call me when you’re off.” Angela touches Jamal’s neck, and he covers her hand with his. It’s intimate. I want them to be embarrassed they were caught. Just earlier today she proposed we work on some exposé. Her last words were don’t tell Jamal. What is she up to?
Angela walks past me, all carefree, acting like she doesn’t hold my future as an editor in her hands. Is she playing games with me? And the way she was all up in Chris’s face at school—arguing over something, then making up with him—only to mess with Jamal hours later? She’s got no concern for what kind of harm she could do to my family if Jamal lost his job. This is probably some kind of thrilling dare for her, seeing how far she can take things without getting caught. Then she’ll joke and tell her friends as they laugh at how brave she was for hooking up with Jamal, the son of a killer. How stupid was I to think I could trust her to help me lock down my editor position for next year.
“Really, Jamal?” I punch Jamal’s arm for taking such a chance with Angela, messing around at work. He’s never held the reserved shame like I do, so I’m hoping he’ll feel some kind of semblance of pain this way.
“Why you gotta be like that?” Jamal flinches, blocking my hand before I land another punch.
“If you get caught, you could lose your job.”
“I know. I know. But I’m too quick, though. Fastest feet in Texas.”
“Well, you’re not that quick, ’cause I could straight see you as soon as I walked in. What if Mr. Herron came in?”
He should know more than anyone, one slipup and your life can change.
“Here’s some dinner.” I throw the bag on the table, and he starts unwrapping it. “It’s only four o’clock!”
“Gotta keep my energy up.” He scarfs his meal within minutes.
I watch him eat, reminding myself why I’m here.
“I saw Daddy on Saturday.” I pause and run my fingers across the flickering lights on the production board. “I told him about the interview, how it was my fault. He watched. Said we should talk it out. Wants us to stick together.”
“No time to go over spilled milk. I’m working, and it’ll be a late one.” Jamal doesn’t hesitate.
“I can come back after.”
“No. I mean, it’ll be a laaate one tonight.”
Jamal brushes his shoulder to emphasize how fly he thinks he is, then leans at the edge of his stool, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You must be desperate to want to hang out with me when you know you owe me big-time for what you did. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.”
“Jamal!” I cry out his name. “I’m sorry. I mean it.”
“You don’t wanna hang out with me anyway. Probably saw Mrs. Evans’s car at the store and turned around like a sucka.”
“For a second you had me feeling bad.”
“Please, you ain’t thinking about me. Dean’s mama has you shook, and you don’t know what to do about it.”
“It’s not my fault she acts the way she do. She don’t bother me, though. Dean’s my best friend. Not my boyfriend.”
“Good. Dean’s cool, but you know it’d never work out.”
Inside, I cringe.
“Not that I’m interested, but it doesn’t seem to stop you from messing with Angela.” I force a smirk.
“Not the same, but okay, playa’.”
“Stop.” I wave him off.
“Breaking hearts wherever she goes.” Jamal hits his fist playfully.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” I turn our conversation back. “I know you don’t believe it, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
The door opens; on the other side is Jamal’s best friend, Quincy. Jamal got him a part-time job helping in the mix room.
“What up, T?” Quincy runs his hand along his chin and touches his locs framed around his ears.
I can never tell if Quincy flirts with me only to anger Jamal. I give a shy smile back. We used to be cool before he was shot. Before his dad was killed. That was a long time ago.
“Watch out. Jamal’s on one today.” I pass Quincy.
Quincy follows after me, the hem of his jeans hanging over his shoes, so he drags his leg real smooth and slow. His limp came after the shooting, but it’s now all part of his swagger.
“Where we going?” Quincy asks.
“We are going nowhere.” I smile. “Unless you wanna go through Jamal first?”
“You don’t think I would?” He sidles up next to me. “I’m waiting for my chance.”
Quincy’s got so many girls, I can’t take him seriously.
“Q, I’m right here, dude.” Jamal puffs out, ready to pounce on Quincy from the studio.
He switches back and forth, looking at me, then Jamal.
“Bye, Quincy.” I nudge him gently.
“Tracy.” He touches my arm. “Forget Jamal. He knows you were badass in that interview.”
My cheeks turn hot as I fumble, passing Quincy, who’s holding open the audio room door.
“Hold up, Tracy,” Jamal says. “I’ll be right back, Quincy.”
“A’ight.” Quincy takes a seat in the studio.
Jamal catches up to me and follows me downstairs. When we reach the lobby, Jamal gets serious. He’s done with the jokes.
“How was Pops?” Jamal asks.
The tension building in my chest loosens.
“He was good.” I touch Jamal’s shoulder. We both know Daddy hides things from each of us, and I’m usually the one who gets the real story. “Daddy knows you’d visit every day if you could. He knew why y’all didn’t come on Saturday. He was surprised to even see me that late.”
“Once college starts, I can’t manage every week.”