Boyfriend Season by Kelli London Page B

bull.”
    A black car with shiny silver rims pulled alongside her, on the wrong side of the street. The door opened, and the guy from the store got out.
    â€œYo son!” he barked on Rufus with his clipped English accent. “Why you bothering her for? She like one-fourth your size, kid. What’s the deal with that?”
    â€œCome on, City, man. We was just playing. We’ve been friends forever, that’s just how we conversate. Ask her.” Rufus said.
    Rufus knew him? She wondered how that was possible, when she didn’t.
    â€œYo, what I tell you about all that playing, son? Look at what you’ve done to her—she’s in tears over here.” He shook his head in disgust. “Pardon me, miss. You a’ight?”
    Dynasty looked at the guy from the store with new eyes. He was as supreme as she’d thought, and his Oreo-cookie-brown complexion was even more beautiful in the sunlight. Compared to Rufus sweating like a stuck hog, City hadn’t a trace of perspiration.
    â€œI’m okay. I don’t pay Rufus any attention; he’s a bit . . . well, different. But he’s my friend—on most days.”
    â€œYou the one who different, Dynasty! That’s why your aunt gonna kicks you out if you don’t have her beer and cigarettes! About the ten dollars. City, you heard about her, right? The crazy lady that’s loony.”
    â€œStop talking in fragments, Rufus. And make your subjects and verbs agree. And by the way, it’s you’re and who’s , not you and that’s. Who is for a person, that is for a thing.”
    The guy posted up. He moved his feet until they were shoulder width apart, and clasped hands in front of him. He turned only his face, and glared at Rufus. “Yo son, for real, though. I’m not going to tell you any more—lay off, kid. That’s my word.” He turned back to Dynasty. “That’s your real name, miss? Dynasty?”
    She nodded, stopping herself from smiling. With only a few sentences the guy had managed to make Rufus shut up.
    â€œI like that. That’s what I’m building—a dynasty. They call me City because I’m from up north. Brooklyn, USA. So now that I know why you need ten dollars, you sure you don’t want to show me where I need to go? I can’t get Meka—that’s my people—to show me, she’s too busy working. And if you can do it, I can pay you up front, that way your aunt or whoever will fall back. And beer and cigarettes aren’t a problem either, that’s an easy fix.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You can trust me, Dynasty. You can ask Rufus or Pork Chop. Even Old Man Curtis can vouch for me. I’m on the up and up.”
    So his accent wasn’t English. City was from the city, and now she could tell. That’s where his clipped words, almost one-hundred-percent-proper enunciation, authentic Prada sneakers, and sure demeanor came from. Dynasty looked at Rufus, and he nodded his head.
    â€œPork Chop’s his granddaddy.”
    Dynasty raised her eyebrows, then cupped her hands over them. The sun was high in the sky and burning too bright to see without shade. “And you’re going to give me the money up front?”
    He reached into his pocket and handed it to her.
    â€œAnd take me home so I can change?”
    â€œWith pleasure.”
    Dynasty nodded, not sure if City was being smartalecky or not about her multi-Crayola-colored outfit. But she didn’t care; if he was Pork Chop’s grandson, she felt as if she could trust him, plus she needed his ten dollars more than ever. “Okay. Where do you have to go?” she asked, walking toward his car.
    City jogged slightly in front of her, then opened the passenger door. “On Peach something. May be Peachtree.”
    She got inside the car, welcoming the clean scent and cool air. “Peach or Peachtree?” She laughed. “That could mean