screened back porch of my home in the pullout queen-size sofa bed. I was so happy my mother didn’t insist that we sleep in the room I shared with my little brother. No matter how scared Jonathan said he was, he’d be sleeping in the room by himself. Mama allowed him to sleep with the lamp glowing on the table that divided our twin beds. Besides, I was too old to be sharing a room.
The night before, Sweet D and I had stayed up way past midnight as we ate popcorn and drank red soda from the same bottle. We talked about girls until we fell sound asleep. D fell asleep first, and I spent about ten minutes just staring at his face, wanting to touch him but afraid to. He was so stunning that I imagined at some point in his life his looks would become a problem. No young man should look so perfect. Beautiful yet handsome. Soft-looking but masculine disposition. It took everything in me to stop my fingers from tracing the flawless lines across his face. I knew touching him in that way would be wrong.
“What’s up, Chauncey?” he said. His voice was gentle and morning deep as he opened his eyes wider and rubbed them.
“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” I asked.
“Like a baby still in his mama’s womb,” he said.
“I guess that’s good.”
“It is.”
D sat up and pushed his naked back against the coolness of the fake-leather sofa bed. The top sheet and quilt covered the lower half of his body, and I suspected he was wearing just his boxers.
His face was covered with a look of thoughtfulness when he turned toward me and said, “You know, we should start a singing group.”
“You mean you and me?”
“I think it should be four, like the O’Jays.”
“Who else would we get?”
“We could ask the twins. I’ve heard them blow, and they can carry a tune better than most,” D said.
“You mean Barron and Darron?”
“Yeah, those two.”
“Think they’d do it?”
“Yep. Especially when we tell them how famous we’re gonna be and how it can get all of us out of this country-ass town,” D said.
“You think we could be famous?”
“I know we’ll both be famous,” he said with more confidence than I had ever heard from a sixteen-year-old. When he spoke he sounded very mature, but he was only eighteen months older than I was. Maybe he sounded that way because he said he’d been the man of the house ever since his father left when D was in the fifth grade.
“If you say so.”
“There’s another thing,” D said.
“What?”
“We need to get girlfriends,” he said calmly.
I frowned. “We do?”
“Yeah, we’re in high school and so we need girlfriends.”
“Who?” I asked. I really wanted to ask him why, but he spoke as if I should already know that answer.
“I’ll make the moves on Taylor, and you go after her running buddy, Rochelle Mack.”
“Rochelle is pretty,” I said as the face of the light-skinned girl with the big legs and long dark hair came to mind.
“Yeah, both her and Taylor will be cool for us,” D said.
“When should we do this?”
“I’ll ask Taylor to go with me tomorrow. You wait a week on Rochelle. She’ll be lonely, since Taylor will be spending her time with me,” he said with a smile.
“You think of everything, D.”
“Just stick with me, boy, and I’ll introduce you to some things you don’t even know exist.”
I smiled and didn’t say anything, although my heart pounded at the thought of all that Sweet D could teach me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S omething told me my day had been going too well.
Celia walked into the office with a look that spelled trouble.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as she plopped down in one of the chairs in front of my desk and her body slumped.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“What, Celia?” I said slowly, already feeling that I didn’t want to hear this news.
“You know the new supplier I convinced you to use?”
“Which one?”
“Mercury Printing Press.”
I thought for a moment and remembered
The night before, Sweet D and I had stayed up way past midnight as we ate popcorn and drank red soda from the same bottle. We talked about girls until we fell sound asleep. D fell asleep first, and I spent about ten minutes just staring at his face, wanting to touch him but afraid to. He was so stunning that I imagined at some point in his life his looks would become a problem. No young man should look so perfect. Beautiful yet handsome. Soft-looking but masculine disposition. It took everything in me to stop my fingers from tracing the flawless lines across his face. I knew touching him in that way would be wrong.
“What’s up, Chauncey?” he said. His voice was gentle and morning deep as he opened his eyes wider and rubbed them.
“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” I asked.
“Like a baby still in his mama’s womb,” he said.
“I guess that’s good.”
“It is.”
D sat up and pushed his naked back against the coolness of the fake-leather sofa bed. The top sheet and quilt covered the lower half of his body, and I suspected he was wearing just his boxers.
His face was covered with a look of thoughtfulness when he turned toward me and said, “You know, we should start a singing group.”
“You mean you and me?”
“I think it should be four, like the O’Jays.”
“Who else would we get?”
“We could ask the twins. I’ve heard them blow, and they can carry a tune better than most,” D said.
“You mean Barron and Darron?”
“Yeah, those two.”
“Think they’d do it?”
“Yep. Especially when we tell them how famous we’re gonna be and how it can get all of us out of this country-ass town,” D said.
“You think we could be famous?”
“I know we’ll both be famous,” he said with more confidence than I had ever heard from a sixteen-year-old. When he spoke he sounded very mature, but he was only eighteen months older than I was. Maybe he sounded that way because he said he’d been the man of the house ever since his father left when D was in the fifth grade.
“If you say so.”
“There’s another thing,” D said.
“What?”
“We need to get girlfriends,” he said calmly.
I frowned. “We do?”
“Yeah, we’re in high school and so we need girlfriends.”
“Who?” I asked. I really wanted to ask him why, but he spoke as if I should already know that answer.
“I’ll make the moves on Taylor, and you go after her running buddy, Rochelle Mack.”
“Rochelle is pretty,” I said as the face of the light-skinned girl with the big legs and long dark hair came to mind.
“Yeah, both her and Taylor will be cool for us,” D said.
“When should we do this?”
“I’ll ask Taylor to go with me tomorrow. You wait a week on Rochelle. She’ll be lonely, since Taylor will be spending her time with me,” he said with a smile.
“You think of everything, D.”
“Just stick with me, boy, and I’ll introduce you to some things you don’t even know exist.”
I smiled and didn’t say anything, although my heart pounded at the thought of all that Sweet D could teach me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S omething told me my day had been going too well.
Celia walked into the office with a look that spelled trouble.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as she plopped down in one of the chairs in front of my desk and her body slumped.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“What, Celia?” I said slowly, already feeling that I didn’t want to hear this news.
“You know the new supplier I convinced you to use?”
“Which one?”
“Mercury Printing Press.”
I thought for a moment and remembered
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