Page 92 of The Wright Man

We walked that stage. Got those cheap-ass diploma holders they swore were gold-plated history. Tossed our caps in the air with everybody else, like we weren't carrying more weight than most grown men ever do. She grabbed my hand right after we walked off stage, squeezed it hard, and yelled, "We made it, Leek!" And for a minute—just a minute—I believed her.

I believed maybe I'd made it through. Maybe we both had.

But that minute passed quick.

We were back at the Reeds' house now. The whole block was parked up. Cap was manning the grill in his fishing hat and apron that said "#1 Dad," like he wasn't already everybody's. R&B was blasting from the Bluetooth speaker. Tina and Bella were out front arguing over who looked better in their sandals like they weren't the same damn pair. People I hadn't seen since freshman year were hugging Angelica like she cured cancer, and she was eating it up with that big, dimpled smile.

She always did know how to shine. Even in chaos. Especially in chaos.

Me? I stood on the porch with a paper plate full of ribs I couldn't bring myself to eat, pretending to be part of the party. Nodding along. Smiling when I had to. Dapping up cousins and old classmates like I wasn't two seconds away from unraveling.

Mama wasn't here.

Kareem wasn't here.

And Angelica—my Angel—was slipping further away by the minute.

And of course, Gavin was here. In my goddamn face. In her space.

Loud and obnoxious, laughing like he owned the day. He showed up in a bright-ass designer tee, Jordans he probably borrowed, and that smug little I-fuck-your-best-friend smile he'd perfected over the last year. She brought him a plate. Fixed it herself. He kissed her cheek like he had the right.

I looked away before I did something I couldn't take back.

"Imma give Angie my gift later tonight," he said to no one in particular, standing close enough to make sure I heard. "She's been dying for a repeat performance since prom."

My fist clenched so tight the bones in my hand cracked.

He was talking about that night. The night Angelica gave up her virginity to him. She told me about it in her usual way—half sarcasm, half shield. Said it was "fine," then admitted it was "meh," and finally shrugged it off like she was just glad not to leave high school with the V-card she'd been embarrassed about.

I'd smiled through it then, told her I was happy for her, told her I understood.

But I hadn't.

Not really.

Because it hadn't been me.

And even though I wasn't a virgin myself—thanks to a reckless two-month fling with a girl who used to write my name on her sneakers in ninth grade—the idea of Gavin touching Angelica still made something dark twist inside me.

But I kept that shit buried.

Out of respect for Cap.

Out of love for her.

I clenched my jaw and kept my hands in my pockets. He wanted a reaction. I wouldn't give him one. But every second I held it in, I could feel it building in my chest—tight and hot like pressure in a pipe. Like something was gonna snap.

Hours passed like that. Long, slow, fake-ass hours.

Until Angelica found me again.

She walked over with that bright smile, the one that used to mean everything's okay and now just felt like a goodbye.

"Hey," she said, nudging my arm. "Why so serious, Mr. Graduate?"

I smirked a little, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Just tired."

"Understandable," she said, then hesitated. "I've been meaning to talk to you. Alone."