He captured her right in that moment.
She didn’t even know how beautiful she looked to him, like something you didn’t frame because it would dim the real thing. Like light, warmth. Like a reason to keep going.
“I wish I could stay right here forever,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the rain hitting the roof.
Before she could respond, a flashlight flickered from the side steps.
“Hey!” a voice called. “This ain’t no playground. Y’all can’t be up here!”
Princess gasped and grabbed his arm. Zay just laughed again.
They jogged back down, hands clasped tight as they rushed toward the sidewalk, breathless and soaked all over again. By the time they reached his car, Princess was shivering and giggling.
He opened the passenger door for her and tossed his hoodie in the back seat.
As he slid into the driver’s seat, she looked over at him with eyes that shined like the water that dripped from her curls.
“Still think about making it out?”
He turned the key, the engine sputtering to life. “Every day, baby.”
She nodded. “Good. ’Cause one day, when you’re on that stage . . .”
“You’ll be there?” He cut her off before she could finish.
She grinned. “Front row.”
He smiled. She forgot to finish her sentence as she was lost in his gaze. She touched his hand, and he pulled off from the curb. They laughed all the way down Grand River Avenue to her house. However, when he pulled into her parents’ driveway, the silence grew heavy. Zay turned the speaker down and stared at her.
“What?” she asked, flirty. “You got something to say to me?”
He sat there a moment longer before he responded and twiddled his thumbs.
“I do,” he said, softly.
“What?”
He swallowed. “I’d rather write it for you.”
She smiled. “Then I guess I’ll wait for the song, Westside Zay.”
She kissed his cheek, just soft enough for him to remember later, and stepped out into the night. He watched her walk up the walkway, into the door, and waved before he pulled off.
On his drive back to his stepfather’s house, his thoughts raced. For once, they weren’t about surviving. They were about becoming.
The city lights blurred past him like a music video as he leaned into the curve of Grand River, the radio up just enough to catch the tail end of the track. His verse was playing.
He grinned.
“They really playing us on the radio, Ma,” he said aloud, like she was riding shotgun. “I told you I’d make it out.”
His chest filled with a rare warmth. Something like hope. Like a fire that didn’t burn. He flashed back to a few hours ago when he’d danced with Princess in the street like they had no past and nothing to be afraid of. He could still feel the soft press of her kiss on his cheek. Like a promise wrapped in lip gloss.
She believed in him. She saw him.
Every verse he wrote since he’d met her that summer hit harder. She reminded him what it meant to feel, without demanding he say it.
His thoughts wandered back to his mama. She would’ve cried hearing his voice on the radio.
