Page 20 of When I Thug You Like That

“Did you like the school?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m enrolling him.”

Her mouth twisted. “That sounds like something we should be discussing before making that decision.”

“We discussing it now. And had you shown up, we could’ve discussed it further, but you didn’t have time. He’s not about to lose a spot because you dropped the ball.”

“You are something else, Jamison.” She shook her head, holding back what she really wanted to say.

“That makes two of us. Goodnight, son. I love you. Text me when y’all get home.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

“Come on, Jay,” India let out, picking him up and walking fast out the door and to her car.

She could have an attitude all she wanted to. That we’re home message still better hit my phone in the next forty-five minutes.

CHAPTER 4

A Night Out

JAI’ANA

“Tristan.”

I called out to one of my after-school students whose eyes were intently fixated on the iPad in his lap. I’d lost him the moment I handed it over.

“Tristan.”

I called his name for the second time in the same even tone. Still nothing. Glancing up at the clock on the wall in my classroom, it read 6:43 p.m. The afterschool program at Abilities First had technically ended thirteen minutes ago, but Tristian’s mother had called a little bit before six to let us know she’d be a couple minutes late. The message was delivered to me and Mrs. Thompson, who worked after school with me on Mondays and Fridays. However, once she realized it was Tristian who had to be looked after, she said her goodbyes promptly at 6:30, leaving me and my hardheaded friend to hold down the fort.

Tristan was one of those kids where constant talking and redirection only served as a challenge to him. He liked to do things in his way, on his time. But he also knew who to challenge and who not to. I was definitely not the one. And it didn’t take yelling or scare tactics for him to see that. It took me letting him know that he had a voice, but I had a bigger one. His behavior wasn’t going to dictate my day, but it could determine how productive his was.

Did we run into hiccups the first week? Sure. And the days after that, but overall, me and the hardheaded seven-year-old who lived to get his way usually found a 70/30 split on compromise. Seventy my way, of course.

“Excuse me, Tristian Banks.”

“What?” He finally answered, but his eyes never left the screen.

“I’m sorry, what?”

His head lifted slowly. “Yes, Ms. Jai?” he corrected.

“Oh, I thought we was gon’ have to fight.” I smiled, and he cracked one of his own. “It’s 6:45 now. You remember what I said we had to do at 6:45?”

He looked down at the tablet then across the room at his bookbag, hoodie, lunchbox, and the few toys he hadn’t put away.

“Put the iPad away and clean up.”

“Okay, so what we doing?”

“I just wanna watch one more show.”

“Nope.”

“Just one. Please.”

I raised an eyebrow.