Pride (Page 37)

“There you go with those good manners of yours,” I say. The train inches toward Morgan Avenue, and I notice how the people who started getting on at the last few stops look different than the people who were on this train when we got on.

“What’s wrong?” Darius asks. He slides away from me a little bit and turns his body toward me, as if I’m about to give him the most interesting answer ever.

I see him now. For the first time since knowing him, I see him. He still dresses as if he’s off to a teaching job or something. But his jawline is not as tight. And his eyes are smiling. He looks as if he sees me too. So I open up to him. “I’ve been taking this train my whole life. The train is the same. The stops are the same. But the people are different.”

He looks around. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you really, though?”

“Yes,” he says, and moves closer to me again. “But I don’t want to talk about that now, because I’d rather hear about the last book you read.”

“If I tell, then we’ll have to talk about that,” I say.

He smiles. “Okay. What’s your favorite food?”

Again, this is something that no one has ever asked me. It’s a simple question. So I let everything about this moment be simple. And he hangs on to my every word.

The rest of the afternoon goes by like a warm summer breeze. We get off at Bedford Avenue on the L train, and even though I rep Brooklyn all day, every day, I still never have been to Williamsburg. The streets here are narrow and filled with artsy white people with tattoos, piercings, thick beards, and colorful hair. There’s nothing but little shops and restaurants on this strip of Bedford Avenue. I eat gourmet pizza with him. I sip bubble tea and have frozen yogurt. He insists on paying, even though this is not a date. I walk into my very first vintage store, like the ones Janae described up near her college in Syracuse.

“You want it? I can buy it for you,” Darius says as I hold a sweatshirt up to my body.

“I know you can buy me anything I want. The question is, do I want you to buy me anything?” I say, putting the sweatshirt back on the rack.

I’m about to move to another rack when I feel Darius tug at my dress. I stop as he gently pulls me toward him. He takes both my hands in his hands. I step closer to him until our bodies touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot our reflection on a fitting-room mirror. I turn to see just how perfect we look together. He’s way more put together than I am. His clothes are newer, more expensive. I look cute, but still a little hood, a little less polished. He watches us too. And he slips his arms around my waist while still looking at us. I lean in to his chest.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

His breath reaches the back of my neck, and my whole body tingles. So I face him again and reach up to kiss him. We kiss right there in the middle of the vintage store, in front of a fitting-room mirror, for all these hipsters to see.

Someone says, “Awww!”

Still, we don’t stop. And I melt. Darius hugs me so tight, picking me up off my feet, it feels as if he’s inhaling me. And I’m exhaling him.

When we finally release each other, he still holds me in his arms, trying to smooth back my fro.

“Save your energy. My hair doesn’t move,” I say, just to break up that heated moment.

He laughs and I pick up the sweatshirt—a logo of Hillman College from that old TV show A Different World—and hand it to him. I walk out of the store and wait for him outside as he pulls out his wallet with a big fat smile on his face.

For the rest of our date, we don’t stop holding hands. We talk about music, his school, my school, and soon our little block in Bushwick extends all the way out to here too. Everything about this afternoon with Darius Darcy feels like home.

I never knew that deep kisses, hand-holding, and small talk could last for so long, because by the time we get back on the L train and get off on Halsey Street, we’ve talked about everything under the sun. We forget that we aren’t supposed to be seen together until we get to the corner of our block. Still, we don’t move away from each other. I have a big smile on my face, and so does Darius as we get to my door.

“It was nice getting to know you, Zuri Benitez,” he says as he stands in front of my stoop.

“Likewise, Darius Darcy,” I reply.

He eases his hand against the side of my neck, and I lean my head into it, kissing his wrist. I close my eyes for a little bit and feel this whole thing, this sweet thing, take over my whole soul. It’s something I feel in my bones. No. Deeper than bones.

When I open my eyes, I can tell from Darius’s face that he feels it too. His eyes are in another place, even though they’re staring right at me. His smile is so soft that it looks like it’s in a deep, deep rest. Finally he kisses me one last time for the day. And I don’t care one bit who sees us.

In fact, I want my family, my block, and my whole hood to see us.

Twenty-Four

NOT EVEN A week goes by before Darius asks to see me again. But this time, he insists that it’s a date.

“Come with me to Carrie’s party,” he says when I run into him at Hernando’s. Well, we kind of, sort of, planned to run into each other. At about eight in the morning, he texted me that he was going for a run with Ainsley and that he was picking up two bottles of Gatorade beforehand. I volunteered to get Papi a tin of Bustelo coffee when I spotted Darius walking out of his house.

Darius already has on his workout clothes—a fitted T-shirt, basketball shorts, and sports leggings or whatever they are. I’m in my drawstring not-pajama pants and a T-shirt, and my fro is in thick braids. We’re standing in the middle of the aisle, away from Hernando’s nosy eyes, but his cat, Tomijeri, eases his fat, furry body between both our legs, eavesdropping.

“Carrie? You know I don’t like her, right? And she doesn’t like me,” I say as I hold Mama’s EBT card in my fist. I really don’t want to pull it out in front of Darius.

“You really shouldn’t care about that,” he says with a smile.

I have to cast my eyes down when he smiles.

His knuckles softly graze the side of my face, and immediately my whole body melts.

“I like you a lot, Zuri Benitez,” he whispers.

I smile. “Then you got my back if something goes down between me and Carrie, right?”

He laughs. “You’ll fight over me? I didn’t think you were that type of girl.”

I laugh too. “I didn’t say I’d be fighting over you. I’m only throwing jabs if she come at me with some nonsense.”

“Okay, but don’t underestimate bougie rage. That’s on another level.”

“Zuri-looose!” Hernando calls out when we reach the counter. “Those Benitez women . . . you better watch out!” he says to Darius.

Darius and I walk out of the bodega like two old friends, or new friends. Or something else, something better and different.

My sisters and Madrina can read the different all over my face and body. So this time, I tell my family the truth—that I’m going on a date with Darius Darcy.

“Janae, you’re acting like I just won the lotto!” I say to my sister. She’s picking out clothes for me to wear when I meet Darius. But everything she puts out, I put away. She wants me to borrow her heels. But I’m a sneakers girl. So we compromise. I settle on a short dress with sneakers, and I rock my bamboo earrings.