Jordan Belcher - Status

“No, you not. You never will be. Go on home before you get in trouble.”

“I thought you were on my side, Gideon.”

“I’m on my side. I’m worried about me . If Rodrick comes down here and fucks shit up, I’ma be forced to fuck shit up wit’ him. Because I can’t let nothing happen to him. We sell dope together. He’s my investment.”

I was surprised by what I said next: “So now you mad because I wouldn’t kiss you! You don’t like me no more, huh?”

“It’s not because you wouldn’t kiss me. I don’t like you because you weak. You let Rodrick walk all over you because yall got a child together. I don’t like weak bitches.”

“I’m weak now?”

“Stupid weak,” he said firmly. “And gettin’ weaker.”

“I’ma show you weak. Where’s Rodrick?”

“He’s upstairs right now. He’ll be down—”

I stormed off, jostling through the thick crowd. Holding the rail, I climbed the metal steps up to the next floor. There was a big, bearded man in an argyle sweater standing outside the door I needed to get in.

He started to hold his hand up. Then he squinted at me. “Tyesha?”

“Yes, is Rodrick in there?”

I had no idea who this big man was. They rotated security all the time. I figured he knew me the same way everybody else I didn’t know knew me—through Rodrick or The Site. Or both.

“I know you’re Rodrick’s BM,” he said, “but I can’t let you in right now.”

“Why not?”

“They’re handling business, you feel me?”

“I bet they are. That’s why he just called me and told me to come down,” I lied.

“He did?”

“Yes, I have his phone with his contacts.”

“Aw, yeah, he was trippin’ earlier about losing it. My fault, cutie.” He turned the knob and held the door open for me. “Straight down the hall, make your first right.”

The thick door shut on its own when I entered the hallway. As I walked down to the room, I heard one man’s voice speaking in a monotonous tone. It was Rodrick’s. I started speed walking.

“…and we thank You for getting these bricks here safely. We ask You, Lord, to bless all of us as we traffic this product that came from Your Earth. We ask for Your protection and Your strength to protect us from the captors…”

I was awed that Rodrick had the whole room holding hands in prayer. They were standing around a huge table stocked with what looked like plastic-wrapped bricks of weird colored marijuana—light and dark green hairs, dirty oranges. And the room had a pungent smell that I could only compare to animal crackers. I had planned to rush in on him and beat his head in for even thinking about changing his relationship status without giving me a warning, but I could wait until he was finished with his prayer. I’d give him that courtesy.

“…and keep us from being bound. Because You teach us, Lord, that Your Word is not bound. We also ask You to protect our families as we go through our trials and tribulations. We ask You to touch Skooly’s brother’s heart and restore his consciousness as he recovers from his gunshot wound. We ask You to watch over our girlfriends and wives—and my soon-to-be wife and our 4-year-old daughter—as we risk our lives day in and day out to shelter them.”

My bottom lip hung in shock. He referred to me as his soon-to-be-wife in front of all of his friends, and seemed so earnest about it. I wasn’t on fire like I was when I walked up the steps, but I was still sizzling.

“We know, oh Lord, that we sin and walk in ways that aren’t Your way,” Rodrick continued, “but we ask you to show us Your way and guide us out of this game one day. We have so much to be thankful for and we praise You and…”

One of the phones in my pocket beeped. And one of the men at the side of the table nearest me turned his head and I was noticed for the first time. He looked at me curiously—part what-are-you-doing-in-here, and part damn-you-look-good. I mouthed the word “sorry” and left the room.

With my back against the hallway wall, still listening to Rodrick finish up his prayer, I found which phone went off.

It was his.

And he had a notification.

I pressed the icon that took me to his messages. There was one from none other than the infamous Angela youngandfly Serrano. My anger tightened again as I read what she posted in his private inbox:

Angela youngandfly Serrano:hey handsome I’m outside the club right now standing in this long-ass line. can u come get me in or do I have to pay? U better get me in VIP in the next 2 minutes or I’ma leave with this brotha standing in front of me who smells like some of ur good-ass weed #ticktock

The ho was outside! I whisked down the hall and struggled out the thick door. I paced down the metal steps—I think Gideon saw me coming down. So I hurriedly pushed my way through the crowd. I got out the front door and saw the line of people stretching as far back as I could see.

“Is it packed in there?” a guy near the front of the line asked.

I ignored him and started walking quickly down the line, scanning the faces of the girls, giving them each a one-second glance.

Where the fuck are you, bitch?

Walking faster down the line, I saw a few light-skinned girls that could have resembled Angela youngandfly Serrano in the face, but none had the body to match. Angela’s breasts were huge, according to the images in her photo album. And her butt was just as big.

Then I saw someone step out of line in a hurry, about thirty feet ahead of me. It was a girl that gave me a fleeting look of shock, wearing a dress far too small for her thickness. When the girl speed-walked down the sidewalk, her tush wobbled within her tight skirt, struggling to stay tucked in.

I was almost sure it was Angela!

“Hey!” I called.

The light-skinned girl looked back for a second, turned and started working her long legs harder. She was nearly running now.

“Angela!” I screamed, picking up the pace in my step. “I know that’s you! Stop!”

But the girl didn’t. In her armadillo high heels, she was moving unbelievably fast. It was clear she was trying to get away.

I pushed on, breaking into a full run. “C’mere, ho! Don’t make me chase you!”

The girl ahead of me suddenly stopped from exhaustion. She turned around, planting her hands on her hips, fatigued. I halted when I saw the girl’s face up close. I gasped.

“Deja?” I uttered her name in confusion.

She looked at me as if she were tired—not just from running, but from hiding the truth.

“Go ahead and cry,” she said flatly.

As much as I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help it. The tears began to trickle, burning my cheeks.

“How long?” I asked her.

Sighing, she said, “We’ve been fuckin’ since the day after he got out of prison. Of course, he was with you the first day. But we’ve been writing each other before he got out.”

“Fa-real, Deja? Are you serious? Yall been makin’ me look like a complete fool. I can’t believe you! You put up this fake name on The Site, fake pictures, and that bitch has been you the whole time? I used to complain about her to you and you fuckin’ played along. What did I do to you?”

“He was mine from the beginning,” she retorted. “I told you I liked Rodrick back in high school. And not only did you steal him, you got pregnant by him too.”

I wiggled my hands in my tight pockets nonchalantly. My left hand found the brass knuckles my mother used to fight with in her gang days. My fingers prodded through the finger holes.

“You always thought you were better than me,” she went on. “You teased me about being fat even when I decided to start working out with you. I was always the fat friend. You’re little sidekick that had to sit back and watch all the niggas in school gawk over you.”