Page 59 of Grown

“Damn, I keep forgetting, you don’t know nothing about nothing. Ma, they practicallybeggedme to take you. One less mouth to feed.”

That’s not true, I want to shout. But fear and shock sew my lips shut.

“Been trying to control you ’cause they know you their big money ticket out of being some broke-ass niggas.”

Hands trembling, my eyes narrow, and for a moment, the old me crawls her way out of the dark.

“Don’t talk about my mom and daddy like that,” I hiss.

He raises an eyebrow, as if impressed. “Oh, you don’t believe me? Ask Jessica—she’ll tell you. I can show you the texts they’ve sent. Asking for money, asking for what I owe. Man, thirsty as hell. That’s how parents be. They be using their kids just to fill they own pockets. Right, Jessica?”

Jessica’s eyes widen for a split second, and for the first time, through her cold demeanor, I see someone real, not just a block of ice. A real woman with emotions. Actually, no, not a woman.

A girl.

Maybe it’s the way she carries herself, bone straight like a number-two pencil, but now I can’t unsee the fact that Jessica is young.

“Plus, I’ve been paying their bills,” Korey carries on. “How else you think your little sis still going to that expensive-ass school?”

My face feels numb. “What are you talking about?”

He groans, rubbing his face.

“Just... just get her out of here,” he says with a flick of his wrist. “Tired of explaining myself.”

In the car, I dare to ask the question. “Jessica, how old are you?”

Tony, behind the wheel, glances in the rearview mirror, and she shoots me a soul-piercing glare.

“That is none of your business.”

Chapter 41

Decline

Hey, how’s school?

Kool. Everyone’s been talking about you. You’re like a celebrity. Which makes me a celebrity!

And the Littles?

They kool too. You talk to Mom? You’re not calling like you’re supposed to. Heard her trying to reach you through Korey.

I reread Shea’s message several times, willing it to change.

Korey wasn’t lying. Mom really was texting him.

Outside my window, on the top floor of our Washington, DC, hotel, I can see the Washington Monument, standing tall, snow covering the grass of the National Mall. I sit with the cold, hard facts Korey laid at my feet.

Shea is still in school because Korey is paying for it.

The Littles still have a roof over their head... because Korey is paying for it.

First, I was used as a resident babysitter, so I didn’t have a life of my own, now I’m being used again. This time for money. I don’t know what’s worse.

Korey enters, carrying Flounder.

“You... left this in Connecticut,” he says, setting the doll on the dresser.