Black Enough: Stories of Being Young & Black in America

DeMarcus said, “Why you all in the man phone?”

“Something for Beneton’s suggestion box.” Amir dictated while he tapped. “Get Shawn to stop staring at women like a serial killer.”

I snatched my phone back.

“Talk to her,” Amir said with the hopeless enthusiasm of someone advising a PetSmart goldfish to towel off. “She right there.”

“I will.” I wasn’t.

She was right there, thirty feet from us, ordering a Coke at the bar. She was by herself, and doing those do-I-know-somebody-here glances before focusing on her phone. You know what would happen the minute I crossed that divide, and tried to spit game? This:

MWARRRGHH! MWARRRGHH!

That’s how Chewbacca talked.

MWARRRGHH!

That’s all she was going to hear when a dude in a freaking Chewbacca shirt stepped to her. What was I thinking?

Black. Nerd. Problems.

Amir said, “You regretting your outfit, ain’t you?”

“How’d you—?”

He tapped his temple. “I know things. Let’s grab a booth.”

We locked down seats with good views of the billiards table, the bar, and the Skee-Ball machines, where the dudes from the Far East Emporium—that store with mad decorative chessboards, tiger statues, incense, and a perpetual “50% OFF EVERYTHING” sale—were battling the twins, Brian and Ben, from Abercrombie & Fitch.

Brian scored a forty-pointer on a sweet roll that arced off the corner of the ramp. He high-fived his brother, then mean-mugged the competition.

DeMarcus said, “Why that joint seem so intense?”

Could’ve told him the beef was deeper and tougher than them one-hundred-point Skee-Ball holes. Brian and Ben were Brian and Ben Lin, Chinese Americans who been said the Far East Emporium was racist AF. Mr. Lee (like Robert E., not Bruce), owner of the Far East Emporium, and his sons said the Lins were too sensitive, that the store honored the “spirit of the Orient”—also racist AF. Thus, the Lin vs. Lee Skee-Ball war.

How I know? Food court gossip on dinner breaks gets you the whole rundown in Briarwood. But I didn’t explain all that to DeMarcus. My attention was elsewhere.

Cologne Kiosk Cameron had slithered in undetected, settled at the bar right next to Dayshia, a bulging man purse resting at his feet. A pretty boy who talked with his hands and way too many teeth, he had the complexion of a well-cooked french fry, brown and a little oily. No one was sure how old he was. Kamala from Build-A-Bear said he was a college sophomore, though nobody knew which school. Jeff, the old stoner from the vape shop, said he once saw Cameron at his aunt’s bingo night hitting on single moms. Who knew?

Whatever his age, there were no characters from a Galaxy Far, Far Away anywhere on his pristine slacks, pressed plaid button-up, or blazer with those voluntary patches on the elbow. He said something. Dayshia laughed. With him, not at him.

Amir noticed me noticing. “Yo, that dude appears like Satan. I’ve never seen him come and go.”

DeMarcus said, “I promise you a black cloud of brimstone smells better than the knockoff nerve gas he be selling at that box shop.”

I said nothing. Just unlocked my phone, opened my notepad app, and wallowed in defeat.

Pia, our waitress, who used to sling frozen yogurt but said this gig paid a dollar more an hour plus tips, propped her empty serving tray on her hip. “Y’all gonna order some food?”

Amir said, “Any of it cheaper yet?”

Pia glanced down. “Why you got tape on your shoes?’

“Just bring us more water with lemon, please.”

She stomped away while I slurped my third water down to the ice chips. I tapped my screen, ignoring Amir’s heat-vision stare.

“I ain’t sitting with you all night,” he said.

“Didn’t ask you to.”

“I could really be checking on these shorties. I heard Chrissy from the Sprint store is a freak.”

“Chrissy got a girlfriend. Stop spreading rumors.”

“Oh. Shit. Look who’s salty. Don’t be mad at me because you too much of a punk to take your shot with Dayshia.”

Naw, that didn’t sting. It might if it was true, but it wasn’t. Asshole. “You making a bunch of noise over nothing. She’s dope. We ain’t the same, though.”

“Of course you ain’t the same. Why would you want to be with someone the same as you? Like a female Shawn? A clone? Get off that sci-fi stuff a little bit. When you writing your books and movie—yeah, I know what you really be doing on your phone—it’ll be an asset. You gonna get all that good cosplay loving at the Geeki-Con. But today, act cool.”

“You’re only proving my point. I love ‘that sci-fi stuff.’ If she act the way you act over it, why waste the time?”

“You don’t know how she act, and you won’t ever if you don’t step up.” He pressed back in his booth corner. Looking like he wanted to dust me for fingerprints and solve me. “So you saying it ain’t a thing if I hollered?”

“Go for it. I’m cool.” The lie twisted my stomach on the way up, dragging acid.

Amir slid from the booth, went straight for Dayshia, who’d drifted toward a pack of other mall girls. There was Aubrey from Things Remembered, Vicki from Victoria’s Secret, and Desdemona Bloodbayne (the name she preferred; her birth name Jill) from Hot Topic.

Amir was charming when he wanted to be, so he infiltrated the ladies’ convo with ease. They welcomed him with smiles.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course it was a thing if he hollered at Dayshia! He should know that! A clear violation of bro code.

I couldn’t watch whatever happened next, so I did what came easy to me. Words.

My phone was full of them. Not the “sci-fi stuff” Mr. Know Every Damn Thing suggested. Just stuff. My observations about Briarwood.

Take this “soft opening,” for example … it did not seem to be going well. Those who ordered food—like the Limited employees occupying a circular booth in the corner—grimaced on first bites and left mounds of sauce-heavy wings virtually uneaten. Dude who worked in the JCPenney men’s department kept checking his watch, yet likely couldn’t escape because guess who was back! Mr. Beneton, checking on the captives, making everyone as uncomfortable as the Santa Claus–looking dude from Yankee Candle who’d ordered the crab poppers and was rubbing his stomach with regret.

Brian, Ben, and the Far East Emporium took their battle to the Shoot-to-Win Free Throw machines, while the Dick’s Sporting Goods crew went for like their tenth round on Big Buck Hunter—

“Hey.” Dayshia slid into the booth, taking Amir’s old seat. “Your friend told me about you.”

I died for half a second.

“You shouldn’t have been afraid to come talk to me.” She smiled with perfect teeth tinted blue under the Mall-Stars black lights. My head whipped toward Amir, aiming a Scanners-style telepathic attack at him, hoping to either explode his head or read his mind. What did you do?!

He raised a fresh glass of ice water with lemon at me, winked.