Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 94897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Belated intro, that’s my brother, Dutch,” Jagger introduced.
“Yo,” Dutch said to Mal.
“Yo,” Mal replied, then bent his head to the striped, paper straw coming out of his glass.
Jag couldn’t get a bead on him.
But just to cover his bases…
“Don’t be pissed at Arch. Like she said, she’s sharing with your mom because she cares about you.”
“You guys think it’s this. It’s not this. Though, Dad’s ticked about this,” Mal mumbled to his drink.
Jag shot a look to Dutch who had his arms crossed on his chest, his boots crossed at the ankles, but he didn’t move after Mal spoke, except to catch Jag’s look.
That was an opening and Jag wanted to jump on it and tear it wide.
But he fought against that urge, and instead proceeded carefully.
“Your dad knows about the twins?” Jag asked.
Mal sucked back more Coke.
“Mal, buddy, please tal—”
Mal let go of the straw, and still slumped over his drink, he turned only his head to Jag.
“He wants me to tell Mom. I don’t want to worry her. I can handle the twins.”
“No offense, bro, but it wasn’t looking that way to me,” Jag replied warily.
“I don’t care about them.”
“You kinda hid that you were racing away from them, but not totally,” Jagger pointed out.
“Not wanting to put up with their shit isn’t the same as caring about them.”
You couldn’t argue that.
“Have they done this before?” Dutch asked.
Mal looked to him and Jag didn’t know whether to give Dutch the sign to shut up, or not. Jag barely knew the kid. Dutch didn’t know him at all. And he was finally talking, they didn’t need for him to clam up.
“The shoving, yeah. The kicking, no. The generally being a pain in the ass, all the time. But they don’t matter,” Mal answered Dutch.
Jag let out a relieved breath, hearing the news that today was the day it escalated, and today was the day they were making moves to put a stop to it.
Then he asked, “So your dad knows and…”
Mal looked to him. “And I told him I can hack it. I made him promise not to tell Mom. So he’s ticked that the Harris brothers are being pains in my ass, and he’s ticked because he thinks Mom should know. He’s also ticked that school hasn’t done something about it. But I told him I’m the man of the house now, so I get to make that choice. And he got me, so he stood down.”
Right, well…
Shit.
“You wanna explore that?” Jagger asked.
“What? That he and Mom split?” Mal asked back. “Not really. It sucks. It happened. They fought a lot and it’s better this way. I don’t have to listen to them shouting at each other. And they don’t have to shout at each other. But I’m her guy now, he’s not anymore, and I gotta look after her. I told him it’s what he taught me to do. Even if they fought a lot, he looked out for her, still does. So he knows he gave me that and it’s what I gotta do.”
Jag did not get where this was going, this talk of looking out for his mother when it wasn’t her that was being harassed by some assholes.
So he cautiously pushed, “What does that mean?”
“It’s cool you guys are named weird names.”
It took a sec, but at this abrupt change in topic, Jag released the tension in his shoulders that was caused by his excitement and hope that Mal was finally opening up.
Mal had shared.
He was done sharing.
They got what they got, and Jag wasn’t going to push it.
“I wish I had a weird name, like LeBron or Chadwick,” Mal continued.
“Those aren’t weird names,” Dutch said.
Mal looked at him. “Don’t fake it. White people totally think Black people have weird names.”
Dutch wisely decided not to reply because Dutch, like Jag, didn’t give a shit what anyone named their kid, and not only for the obvious reasons they wouldn’t give a shit about something like that, but they both knew what Mal said was not wrong.
“Mal is a cool name,” Jagger told him.
“It’s short for Malcolm,” Mal replied.
“Malcolm is a cooler name,” Jag returned.
“I know. And you don’t have to educate me. Mom and Dad told me. Made me read about him. I know I’m named after Malcolm X. He’s theirs though. Or their parents’ and he was passed down to them. But LeBron and Chadwick, they’re mine,” Mal stated.
You really couldn’t argue that either.
“So name your kid one of those names,” Dutch suggested. “That way, you can give him that and keep those names alive, at the same time give him who’s a piece of you and keep Malcolm X alive.”
Mal stared at Dutch a beat before he turned to Jag.
“Your brother’s dope,” he declared.
Jag grinned at him. “Pretty much, yeah.”
Mal kept eye contact when he said, “Thanks for today. It’s cool you care. And I’m really not mad at Archie. So Mom will know now. I’ll deal.”