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She strolls completely past me, with that ass following close behind. You never forget the moment life is about to shift. It’s something you can feel. Whether because of a person, place or thing. When things are about to change, there’s nothing that stops it. Watching Syren walk away is a treat to the eyes but a meal for my brain. There’s something poignant about her drawing me in. More than just her attraction. If conversation can’t get it out of her, I’m sure Ecstasy Island could. Once we get there.

I’m left staring back at the Cutwaters, retracing our conversation as if it happened days ago. Only to be interrupted by my vibrating phone, notifying me of a new message. Her already? It’s pulled back out from my bag in a heartbeat, and I can see Dime’s finally responded to me.

Dime: Hey. Sure. You can come over now if you’d like. I’m at home.

Even through text, I can feel the icy vibe between us. Usually, she responds to me with excitement. This felt dry, at least for her. It leaves me stuck twiddling my thumbs on the screen, trying to find the right way to respond without starting an argument.

Me: Cool beans. I’m at the store right now. But I’ll stop over once I leave here.

Dime: Hearted to your message.

After finally dragging myself from the store, I head over to Dime for our little talk. It helps that she still stays over on 36th and Hampton, not too far from Damien’s cafe. I do get worried about her sometimes, knowing how wild the area can get sometimes. Somebody just got shot over there not even two days ago. Which is exactly why I call it Grim Reaper Gardens. Not that Dime can’t hold her own. Since I’ve known her, she’s shared at least two stories of having to shoot at young niggas trying to steal her car. And another of her shooting some guy in the balls for saying salacious things to my niece. Who’s only five. So, yeah. Dime doesn’t fuck around with a piece. Not when it comes to those she loves. She reminds me of Damien in that way.

I’m getting out of the car with hopes we can get back on the right track with our friendship, parking right near the front of her duplex. She gets another text immediately after.

Me: I’m here.

I’m at the front door waiting, buying time scrolling through Threads. It’s such a wild place. Even crazier than Twitter. Especially in the book world. Since I started my BookTok girlie journey, it’s made me aware of how insanely dramatic it can be. Between authors fighting, scandals, and everything else, it’s like the damn Wild West of Mess over there. Of course, the same could be said for just about anything in the world. I’m literally two seconds from reading a post about someone getting exposed for cheating with their own cousin when the front door suddenly pushes open.

The diminutive Dime appears behind it, rocking boy shorts, a wrinkled T-shirt and long socks. Her hair is tied into a messy bun with weed smoke dancing from her lips. Instantly, we share an

uneasy look between us. The silence exudes a quiet intensity that can’t be spoken. I’m the first to speak, still playing nice.

“Hey girl.”

She responds with a quick, cold, “Hi.”

There’s no hug. No secret handshake. Not even a real sign of love between us. Something’s definitely up. She does let me inside though, still barely speaking. Together, we travel the short distance up to her weed-scented apartment. Yung Miami’s latest song is blasting on Pandora from her TV. Her favorite type of music. The lights are dim with her blinds closed to block out any sunlight. She’s like a damn vampire, I swear.

Dime plops down on her black couch, covered in blankets as if she slept there the night before. There’s an eerie silence, one indicating the lack of a child in the home.

“So…where’s my niece?”

“Dakota is at Science Camp for the Summer.”

“Word. Science camp is dope. That’ll be good for her.” “Mhm.” Her tone is ice cold.

“And how are you?”

“I’m alive,” she shrugs, “Bagging weed for my next sale.”

“Nice, nice.”

A switch suddenly goes off.

“Aight, let’s skip the small talk? What’s up, Morgan?”

“I don’t know, Dime. You tell me. I mean, I haven’t even heard from you in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.” She sounds very deflective.

“Busy making doughnuts, apparently.”

That seems to offend her.

“Well, I’m good at it,” she snaps, “Gotta make money somehow. Especially after spending my last to make sure Kota was able to attend camp. Unlike you, not everybody has money just laying around, Morgan.”

“Hey, okay, so I didn’t come here for this subliminal shit. I came to talk. We have beef or what?” “Actually, I do have beef, Morgan. And I’m not about to pretend to hide the shit either.”