“There was no fighting,” I repeat. I say it loud enough so that the words could stick to Riley’s ribs. Riley chews at the end of her dry-erase marker, studying me. I raise my eyebrows at her, pleading for her to do whatever magical thing she does to get the kids back on task.
Finally, Riley claps her hands three times, and the kids repeat after her as they all take their seats at the round table. “Okay, I think we’ve heard enough about Jay and his clumsiness, right?” she asks.
Some of the kids snicker. I let out one loud ha ha. Phony enough. Hope that sticks to her ribs, too.
“Who remembers what we were supposed to read about today?” Riley questions the kids in the same high-pitched voice as a Disney princess. Several hands fly up, but Riley turns to me. “Jay, do you remember? Or did your tumble from your bike cause amnesia?” She laughs and a snort follows, because Riley’s full of swag.
“What’s amnesia?” Malik asks.
“It’s when people don’t believe what you’re saying, so they attempt to be cute in front of a group of kids,” I say. The kids look at one another, blink, and shrug. I force a smile at Riley. “I think I’d much rather scope what the kids remember. Since it’s their class and all.”
Riley’s face falls, probably realizing she’s not as funny as she suspected. “Of course,” she says. She points to Daysia, whose arm is going to snap off if she isn’t called on in two seconds.
Daysia folds her hands perfectly together on top of the table. “We were going to talk about David and Gollum.”
I choke out a laugh. Just a quick one. But long enough to make Riley step in front of me to block me from Daysia.
“Very close, Daysia. But we’re learning about David and Goliath. I think someone still may be in the running to get a sticker at the end of the day,” Riley says, and Daysia nods—eyes lighting up at the possibility of a new smiley face sticker to paste on the back of her hand. “Okay, let’s all go to the reading nook. Remember, crisscross applesauce.”
The kids march over to the blue gym mat that serves as Riley’s reading nook.
“You up for this today?” Riley asks me, under her breath.
“I’m here, ain’t I?” I say.
Riley opens her mouth like she wants to say something else corny, but I turn away from her. Chitchat over. We get through David and Goliath’s story from the Children’s Bible Stories book that was used in my Sunday school class back in the day. The pages smell like stale bread and cough drops, but it always takes me back to a time when I cared more about missing recess than missing sisters. The story only lasts about five minutes, but the seconds drip away like molasses as I mime the actions of the characters.
“Okay, back to the table so you can all draw me your Goliath,” Riley instructs. “What’s something scary that you were able to beat, or are still trying to beat?”
The kids get to it and I retreat to a chair in my corner. Snatch my phone out of my pocket like Hot Pockets fresh out the microwave. Check it for updates. I reached out to, like, three of Sterling’s followers on Snapchat last night, but . . . nothing. I do get a text from Camila, though. Kind of. More like a string of question marks for being all MIA this weekend. My thumb hovers over the texting window, conjuring up some energy to give her a satisfying response.
“Okay, spill it.” Riley leans against the wall next to me and I shove my phone back into my pocket. Pretty hard to sweet-text Mila when there’s a Riley next to you. “What really happened to you?”
I roll my eyes. “Told you. Fell off my bike.”
“You’re sixteen, Jay. There’s no way you’re still falling off your bike.” Riley gives a smile to one of the kids who holds up his paper to show off the blob he’s calling a dog.
“Maybe I’m clumsy. Just like you told the kids.”
“Come on, Jay. Do I really look that stupid?” Her perennial ponytail is tucked up into a bun, making her eyes bigger and more prying.
“Don’t make me answer that.”
“Got into a tiff with your crew?”
I give her the side eye. “I have a crew now?” I don’t know what offends me more—her assumption, or that she’s tossing words like tiff at me without cowering in embarrassment.
“For real. Was it a scuffle over money? Someone step on your sneakers?” Riley snaps her fingers, points at me. “A girl, wasn’t it? You threw down over a girl because one of your friends got her pregnant.”
And this is exactly why I couldn’t tell Riley about Javon. Even though Javon did the slinging, she’d put me in the same category as him. To Riley, both me and Javon strut around with our pants hanging a little too low and the music from our cars a little too loud. Not that I had a car, but if I did have one, rest assured that Riley would ask me why I still used the CD player instead of XM radio.
“Okay, who’s ready for our sing-along?” I ask the kids before I say something to Riley that would blow the bun off her head.
“We’re not done with our pictures yet,” Malik tells me as he holds up his half-empty drawing for proof.
“We’ll finish them next week. Do we have any requests?” Never any point asking. We always end with “I’ve Got the Joy.” The kids love pretending to be the Devil sitting on a tack. Three requests for it later, and we’re all singing, bouncing up and down, covering our butts like we sat on something pointy.
After two rounds, Riley and I stand on opposite sides of the door, slapping fives to the kids as they file out of the classroom. When the last one leaves, I follow suit. Double-time it to get away from Riley and pull out my phone to check Snapchat again.
“Something really exciting must be happening on your phone,” Riley says, catching up to me.
I jump from her presence. Those Converses are irritatingly squeak-free.
“Is it the pregnant chick? Don’t tell me she needs you to take a paternity test.” She snickers under her breath. Interrupts it with her snort.
I stop walking and Riley crashes against my arm. “You ever notice that you’re the only one who laughs at your jokes?”
Riley’s laughter dies down. “Lots of people think I’m funny.”
“Yeah? The five-year-olds in our class don’t count.”
“Ugh. Who peed in your Mountain Lion today?”
I groan. Of course she assumes that I drink Mountain Lion instead of its name-brand cousin, Mountain Dew. I do, but still. “You do know that Lion and Dew taste the same, right?”
She snickers again. “Ninety-nine point nine percent of consumers agree that Dew is better than Mountain Lion.”
“Only you would have time to research that.” I glance down at my phone. No new alerts.
“You would have time too if you weren’t—”
I frown back at Riley. “Let me guess. Out on the street with my crew? Busting heads and taking names?”
Riley raises her eyebrows as if that thought hasn’t run laps around her brain before. “I was going to say if you weren’t always on your phone. Seriously. Who died?” She gasps and clutches her chest. “Wait—did someone die?”
I give up. Riley’s like that fly you can’t just swat away at a cookout. The one that makes you cover your soda with a napkin in case it wanted to take a dive. “If I tell you what’s up, will you stop being so extra?”