True True by Don P. Hooper

Author:Don P. Hooper [Hooper, Don P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2023-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

22

Tammy’s in this war now too. Officially. Me and her didn’t just kiss two nights ago. We made a vow. To expose Augustin’s underbelly.

TAMMY

train just pulled in. see u soon

She sent the text almost an hour ago. I don’t know if this is a study date, a work date, or what. Writing an article isn’t like writing an essay. And I needed a little help. I’d go up to Harlem, but I need to be home with Granma. And that heart emoji was everything.

It’ll only be us three. Mom’s working another double. Renee came over last night with her girlfriend to watch Black Belt Jones, to keep Dad’s Friday movie night tradition going.

Dad loves that moment where Jim Kelly beats up the gangsters attacking his dojo. The scene makes no sense. Lights keep going on and off. Shots are in slow-motion. All of a sudden Jim Kelly has the hat of one of the gangsters on top of his fro. In the next shot, the hat’s back on the gangster’s head just in time for Jim Kelly to KO him. All the while, the gangsters are yelling about getting shot or their jaws getting broken. It’s brilliant, mostly ’cause of Dad’s energy, rooting Jim on even though he’s seen the movie a hundred times. Whether it’s movie night, or cheering me on at a martial arts tournament, that energy was infectious. It made winning possible.

I’m hustling around the house, making sure everything’s clean. The dust’s built up on the window ledges and tiny layers of grime creeping into the kitchen and bathroom are a reminder that I haven’t been around to do my chores ’cause of robotics. Maybe I’m just looking at things a little too closely ’cause Tammy’s coming. But there was also my room to clean, laundry to hide, and baby pictures to cover up.

“GC, yuh goin kill yuhself, runnin round like dat,” Granma says. Phrases like this never meant much to me when I was younger, but when she uses death words now, it makes me think of that night with the fire. How I wasn’t there.

“Don’t worry, Granma.” I hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek to make sure she didn’t think I was ignoring her. “Just making sure I don’t embarrass us with any dirty drawers lyin about.”

“Well, yuh betta be wearing clean undawear if yuh and her do anyting special,” she says. We both laugh. For some reason sex convos are never awkward around Granma. Long as I’ve been old enough to remember, that’s just her way of talking, unfiltered, uncensored. It’s different with Mom and Dad. Their protection convo still gives me shivers. “Tek a break, nuh,” Granma says. “Haff a piece a cake.”

The apartment is filled with the sweet scents of freshly baked grater cake and gizzada. Despite what happened, there’s no stopping Granma. Baking, sharing what she’s made, seeing our expressions, brings her joy. I grab one of the grater cakes, a small white shredded-coconut mountain with a pink top, been a favorite since forever.

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