She moved like an angel, becoming one with the melody as it played loudly in the background.

         Cree was oblivious to my observing her as she danced in the studio while I watched in the next room through the two-way mirror. She'd said she would be dancing after school and seeing how she'd given me permission to watch her, I followed her. I just wanted to see if she could really dance and as I stood following her movement to Beyoncé's "Dance for You" it was unanimous, she could.

Cree was more flexible than a lot of the cheerleaders at our school, and despite it being "Cree Jacobs," she was a sexy dancer. She knew how to shake her ass and hips sensually, instead of the ratchet way known as "twerking." Her moves weren't explicit, but art. Her dancing was a motion picture.

I was too caught up watching Cree dance and I nearly missed my cell phone ringing.

A glimpse at my screen told me Marcus was calling.

I went back to watching Cree as I answered. "Yeah?"

"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?"

"It wouldn't work unless it was hard."

"What?"

I shook my head, dazed. "Nothing. What's up?"

"Nothing, where you at?"

"Right now? Watching Cree."

There was a pause on Marcus's end. "Do I wanna know why you're being creepy?"

"She said she danced and I wanted to see. We're just friends."

Marcus sighed. "Don't do it, Dre."

I rolled my eyes. It wasn't like I had the urge to mess with every girl I came across. "I don't want anything, Marc, she's not my type."

"Doesn't matter, you start off friends and the next thing you know you're cutting on the living room sofa."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Something like that."

You hear about it all the time, girl meets boy, they hate each other, and then they fall in love. This wasn't that type of story, because to be blunt, that shit was wack. I had too much on my plate to settle down and catch feelings for a girl like Cree. She was the good girl who wouldn't give it up and I was the bad boy who would only hurt her in the end. Besides, there was nothing there.

"Please don't act like our being friends will result in something more. It is possible for a boy and girl to be friends."

Marcus snorted. "No, it's not."

"So you're saying you couldn't be friends with Cree?"

Marcus took a moment to think, but I already knew he would say he could due to Troiann. "Eventually I'd get curious enough to smash."

Or maybe I was wrong. "Even though Troy's a factor?"

"Troy's not my girl, Dre. Cree's got that attitude," Marcus stopped to chuckle, "plus you said she's a dancer, most dancers are good in bed. That mixed with the attitude is a sign that the sex would be fun."

Watching Cree dance and wind her body, I knew he had a point, but still. She was Cree Jacobs, someone who wasn't even in our radar until Ventura's class. I wasn't interested in smashing just because I could. I just wanted to write the paper, to see what we could do if we set aside our differences.

"Either way, I'm not out to smash."

"Is she going on the No Smash List?"

I hadn't gotten the box for me to declare such a thing. "No."

"So I can...?"

It was beyond fucked-up that he was willing to do that to Troiann, but in the long run it proved me right about Cree and Troiann's misjudging me.

In the end, it would be Marcus's mess to clean up. "Sure."

There was a pause before Marcus responded. "I guess you don't want her. Just checking."

I rolled my eyes. "So you don't want to smash?"

"It's bad enough I gotta share a lunch table with Troy, could you imagine what things would be like if I slept with Cree?"

Messy as fuck. "She's my friend, Marcus, or at least, we're working on it. So do me a favor and don't make this awkward by trying to smash."

He grumbled something but I knew in the end he'd accept and fall through. If I were really going to be Cree's friend, then I had to look out for her, and I couldn't have her getting her feelings hurt by one of my boys. But knowing Cree and her need to read between every fucking line, I had a feeling she couldn't be fooled by Marcus or any of the others.

Marcus and I hung up and I looked back to the two-way mirror, finding Cree now dancing to some classical number.

She was wearing a gray sports bra and black leggings, making it easier for her to move fluidly with the music. Her hair was on top of her head in a bun and for a moment, watching her like I was, I could've sworn she was a real dancer, a professional.

"She's good, isn't she?" A woman stepped out from behind me, taking me by surprise as she stood beside me watching Cree dance as well.

I nodded. "Impeccable."

The woman smiled, following along with Cree's moves. "Just like," she took a moment to think of an appropriate word, "a professional."

She turned to me, staring me up and down. "Now, do you have a reason to be trespassing and watching my niece, or do I have to call someone?"

Trespassing? "Isn't this place public?"

"Yes, when it's open."

"Oh, I was just coming to watch Cree dance. We're going to be working together on a project when she's done."

She didn't lighten up. "Uh-huh, and you're just working together, on a school project?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Again those steely dark eyes of hers scanned me up and down. It was hard to miss the disapproval on her face as she gazed at the tattoos covering my arms. "And you have no other reason to be bothered with Cree?"

I hoped she didn't think I liked Cree, or worse, was stalking her. Okay, maybe I sorta was. "We're just friends, ma'am. I don't have any other interest in Cree besides a friendship."

She looked over to where Cree was in the dance studio turning off the music and hydrating herself. "Well it looks like she's all done,..." She waited for my name.

"DeAndre." I didn't give my last name, sensing that would cause an even bigger fuss.

"DeAndre what?" she persisted.

"Parker."

A brow shot up speculatively. "Parker as in Darrel Parker?"

Parker was an ambiguous last name, but not when it came to our family. It was a known fact that my father had a spot in Akron and that his kids went to public school. That and our names were often littering the sports page of the local paper and evening news over ball.

I kept my mouth shut, but I nodded.

She shook her head. "That's even worse." She glanced over at Cree again, an almost motherly look crossing her eyes. "Cree will shower and then she'll be right out for you two to go and study."

"All right."

She turned to me, slitting her eyes and assessing me. "Now I hope you mean what you say when you speak of not being interested in my niece, because I don't want your dirty lips on hers."

She walked away, disappearing just as quickly as she'd appeared.

She must've overhead me talking to Marc. I could've been offended that she didn't find me good enough for Cree, but it was a truth I knew to heart and it didn't bother me.

"DeAndre?" I looked over, finding Cree standing in the doorway with her gym bag on her shoulder. Sweat glistened off of her body as she stood looking at me curiously. "What are you doing here?"

I ignored the brief conversation I'd just had with her aunt and went back to the thought of Cree's dancing. "I wanted to see you dance."

Cree looked around. "Now?"

"If I had told you I was coming you would've been nervous, instead you were perfect."

Cree grimaced as she started to walk past me. "Creepy much?"

"What are you doing Friday night?" I asked as I got an idea.

Cree looked at me suspiciously. "Working, why?"

"After?"

"I don't know."

"Well now you're going home to shower and get dressed. I've got an idea for an initiation into my circle."

"I'm not even a Balla."

As if it was going to stop the brazen plan I'd just come up with to get Cree out of that damn shell of hers. "Friday night is initiation, Cree. No discussion about it."

She rolled her eyes. "Anything else, your Highness?"

Moving along, I said, "You're really good. You'd find a lot of girls who say they can sing or dance, but you're the real deal."

Cree fought a smile. "Thanks." She fiddled with her water bottle. "So we're going to go work on our paper now?"

"That would be the plan."

"Okay, just let me go get showered and dressed."

I checked my watch, finding that it was already four thirty. My father was probably out—hopefully he was—and that give me a window to have Cree over. She would be the first girl I ever brought home with my father around, chancing a lecture, but if her aunt was down my back about my just being friends with her, there was no telling how her mother and father would be.

"Just do me a favor," I said.

Cree turned back to me. "Yeah?"

"Make sure your aunt knows that we're just friends, only that."

"Oh God yes." Cree hurried off to talk to her aunt and shower and I stood back and waited.

She sat at the far end of the dining room table and I sat at the other. There was nothing but space between us, it was safe that way, in case he came home.

Cree had changed into a large top that hung off her shoulder and a pair of skinny jeans. Her hair was still up in her bun and she hadn't put on any makeup, not that she seemed to ever wear any. Her appearing so plain might also have benefited me as well. Cree wasn't ugly, but her not doing herself up would make it easier to tell my father that she was just my friend. He never saw the girls I messed around with, but he knew I liked the model type, the shape, the looks, and the attitude. With Cree being more down-to-earth, it was safe to say my father wouldn't think twice about our studying.

Cree set her things on the table while I set up my laptop to type notes. I was just opening up a blank document when I looked over and noticed Cree standing from the table and looking along the walls of the dining room, where our family's decorator had family photos on the walls. Cree looked around the room, face void of emotion until she stopped and stood in front of a photo with her face forming into a frown.

"What?" I asked, looking past her to some photo of my brothers and me as kids.

Cree looked back to me. "Why don't you guys ever smile?"

In none of the pictures of us did my brothers or I smile. It wasn't something we often did in front of a camera, except if it were school related.

I shrugged. "I don't know, why?"

Cree's brows pushed together as she appeared confused. "Weren't you happy?"

Of course we were happy. Weren't we? "Why wouldn't we be happy, Cree?"

She stood staring at me, some gears turning in her head. I didn't like it. That nor her audacity to silently judge me.

At that moment, I wanted to take down every single picture that hung up on the walls of our house. It was as if some message was being displayed and I didn't want it to look that way. I didn't want Darnel to be right.

Thinking of Darnel caused my mood to drop. He hadn't called to say anything after his departure Sunday and that left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I didn't know what to say or how to talk to him. When I'd called Sunday evening some girl picked up his phone, asking if she could take a message and I hung up, annoyed that he really had gone and gotten himself in some relationship. He was going to go pro, he was going to be the first of the Parker boys to live out our dreams and he was screwing it up for some girl?

I didn't want to think of his words about our father. Our father had only guided us our whole lives. Stuck by us when our mother left. We were family, the only family that mattered. Darnel was just trippin', plain and simple.

"Dre?" Cree was sitting down again, watching me with concern. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I was just thinking about something my brother said, that's all."

Cree nodded, but I could tell she wasn't buying it. What gave her the right to question me?

She looked like she wanted to say something but then Devonte stepped into the room, buzzing past her as if she wasn't there and coming over to my end, planting his hands down on the table top as he leaned towards me to talk. "Yo, where've you been? I've been blowing up your phone."

My phone sat on the table beside my laptop, noting I hadn't missed a single call or text.

"Really?"

Devonte grinned. "Nah, I was just at the library and I ran into Draya's fine ass. She was asking about you. That's way too much for you, bro."

Draya had a crush on a Balla, a top Balla—but that could've went for Devonte or me. But she'd asked about me, things had to be in my favor.

"Nobody wants you, Devonte." He had his own troubles with the two girls he was two-timing. He needn't any more on his hands.

Devonte clicked his tongue. "I've seen Draya's social media, she think she slick with them 'Swimsuit Saturday' pics she was posting all summer."

I didn't really get into social media, but I'd seen a few of Draya's photos, be it swimsuits or some sexy outfit. As much as I wanted to bed her, I had to admit I wasn't a big fan of girls who posted pictures of themselves in scandalous clothing. A bad bitch should've known she had it, enough to where she didn't have to put it out there to show it. It just should've been known. Even Marcus was cheesy with posting pictures of him flashing his abs.

"I can handle Draya, 'Te."

Devonte appeared doubtful, and then he looked over and noticed Cree. " 'Sup? I see you're back."

Cree looked over to me, lifting a brow.

I rolled my eyes. "You pay him any attention and he'll make you regret it, Cree."

Cree looked to Devonte and smiled politely. "Hello to you too, Devonte."

He grinned at her, checking her out, no doubt losing interest since it was Cree. Devonte turned back to me, questioning me with a funny look. "You've got some nerve bringing her here."

"We're just friends."

Devonte smirked. "Like Dad'll care."

He stood away from the table and eyed Cree one more time. "Well, I'll let you two kids get back to whatever it was that you were doing. I may just go out back and shoot around. Unless," he turned back to me, "do you think Dad'll give me credit for running an hour now?"

Our father hadn't been that pissed about the party. "I don't know, run and find out."

Devonte scowled. "And waste an hour and still have to run tonight, nah, I'm good."

He left us alone and I faced Cree, not surprised to find her watching me.

"What's your other brother like?" she asked.

I didn't want to think of Darnel. After the failed phone called Sunday evening I'd woken up Monday morning with a text from him. A text I hadn't replied back to.

It sounded like a goodbye and I wanted to break my phone. He was overreacting. He was the one who needed to open his eyes and realize what was at stake. He couldn't turn his back on us, we were his family.

When it came to Cree's question I could only stomach enough strength to say one word, but it was a word that described Darnel perfectly. "Different."

Cree didn't pry, sensing it was a touchy subject. Instead, she opened her notebook and started scribbling things down, spouting off about what topics we should discuss in our paper while I hurriedly went to typing on my laptop to catch up.

"I think we should do the negative stuff first, that way it's easier and more fun to get into the positive later," I suggested.

Cree shrugged, bringing out a little packet of doughnuts she must've gotten from the vending machine at the dance studio. She hadn't wanted anything when I'd offered her refreshments when we stepped into the front door. "Sure."

She grabbed a mini glazed doughnut and started to nibble on it.

"That isn't very healthy," I noted as I typed in the words NEGATIVE IMPACTS OF OUR CULTURE as a topic point in my document.

         Cree rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of those health freaks."

         "Nah, I'm just not planning on having diabetes in ten years."

         This caused her to snort. "You know, between you and my father, I'll be fortunate not to get an eating disorder before I graduate."

         "Don't tell me he thinks you're fat."

"Quite the opposite, actually."

I could only see her chest on up, but it was still enough to know that she wasn't fat at all. Even if the top she was wearing was heavy and loose, the image of Cree dancing around in her little sports bra and leggings came to mind and I knew for sure she was fit. "You're definitely thin, but thick in all the right places. He has nothing to worry about."

"He's just strict about—" Cree caught herself and shook her head.

For a moment I wondered if he was on her about her dieting habits and she had to sneak and enjoy sweets. "Strict? About what?"

Cree waved me off. "I've said too much."

"No, you haven't. What's going on, Cree?"

Cree sighed, pursing her lips for a moment and shaking her head. "My father's real funny about dancers and their weight. He doesn't want me shrinking due to some disorder, which is why my dance is just a hobby."

A hobby? When you had raw talent like us, me with basketball and her with dancing, it should've been taken to the next level. Hobbies were for amateurs, something neither of us were.

I sat up in my seat. "You don't plan on taking it further?"

"I'd need more training for that, not that it'll ever happen. Daddy wants me to do something else with my life, and even if I don't make it as a professional dancer, I'd like to study it in college, but...yeah." She shrugged dejectedly, as if it were no big deal her old man was getting in the way of her apparent dream.

"He shouldn't hinder you from something you're so good at."

Cree looked up at me, a sad smile on her face. "We have very different fathers, DeAndre."

I could've laughed at her statement. Our father's viewpoints on our dreams were different, but their input was stressful enough to where we could both relate. Her father was strict on her dancing and body, mine was strict on everything if it got in the way of basketball. My father was on my side, but he was just as intense as Cree's father seemed.

"You'd be surprised how much they have in common."

Cree nodded and we soon got to work. There were so many negatives things that we both hated when it came to black culture, making us both laugh and agree that the negative part of our paper would be ten times longer than the positive.

"Music?" I suggested as I made a new bullet point.

Cree groaned. "God, tell me why these pop stars are mimicking us to put on an act? It's like the new Blackface if you ask me. You get these kids who grow up on country or rock or some shit that's not us, and then they get famous and wanna use us for money, copying our style, using our slang and rappers for songs. Yet in their music videos everyone is white. It's like damn, we set the trend but we can't get an invite to the show?"

I could almost understand what she was saying. But I had a feeling white people or any other race could like our music and style and be genuine about it without having to only like our way of living. You could be of a different racial background and not have to black wash yourself to the point that all your friends were black and you only liked black people as love interests.

Still, I typed in her words, knowing we could clear it up later.

"What about our side of things? The things we say in our lyrics? I hate how when something goes down in the black community rappers want to use their platform to discuss and try to unite us. Yet, in their lyrics a lot of them speak about killing or shunning people out. Black people committing heinous crimes against each other is just as important to eliminate as any other crime against us. You can't talk about giving back to the community on the radio or in an interview, and then rap about the shit you're selling out of your duffle bag.

"I mean, I know I listen to a lot of these songs and they're played at After Hours or one of our parties, but sometimes, I get sick of that shit. Two-faced rappers are the worst."

"Yeah, and their idea of love songs always includes sex. I'm pretty sure the best love there is doesn't involve anything physical, you know?" Cree wrote down her thoughts. "I don't want the guy of my dreams telling me how good my sex is, or how wet I can get, or something private like that. That's not romantic. How can they have daughters and expect the best for them yet they can't even give the best to these girls' mothers?"

I tried to comprehend her words, but it was hard for me, being that my father was a single parent and hadn't ever brought a woman around. Besides that aspect, I could understand what Cree was talking about. There were songs where rappers talked about treating women so grimy and leaving them after sex, and most of the rappers rhyming had daughters of their own. Nas said it best in his song about the very topic. For some men, it was as though God gave them daughters to teach them a lesson, so they could see their precious little girls possibly have to deal with someone cruel or who played games, just like they had.

"Some guys can't love."

This set Cree on another topic that got her heated and I had my hands over my keyboard, ready to go. "That's another thing, do you know what this generation of black people is missing?"

I shook my head.

"Love. Pride to be one's color. I hear it all the time in school or on the radio about how light skin's the right skin or how it's shocking that some dark skin girl is pretty." I could tell her blood was boiling as she shook her head. "Sometimes it just makes me so sad. What if one day I have two girls, one my color and the other...ebony. What am I supposed to tell my darkest child, that she's not as beautiful and won't be accepted because she's not light like her sister and me? What kind of shit is that?"

It was funny. Cree herself was considered light skin, she wasn't high yellow, but more of a light brown.

Cree wiped at her eyes, getting emotional over the thought of the hypothetical. "I think we should focus on loving each other for who we are than the shade of our skin. What happened to 'black power' and 'black is beautiful'? You have people who would rather turn run to another race than sit down and try to rebuild our people, and look for ways to teach our kids. You have girls who want to date outside their race to have light babies with 'good hair' or guys who only like girls of different colors because black girls are too much."

I couldn't relate to that. Girls of all colors were beautiful to me, but I usually just stuck to my own, whether light or dark, it didn't matter.

"I'm not like that."

"You're a rare bird. Do you wanna know how many black guys I see come into Henry's with their white girlfriend or wife and their kids? It saddens me that that is our future. I barely see black couples when I got out anywhere and I hate it. Instead of finding a nice black girl who isn't a stereotype you go and get a white girl. There's so much self-deprecation within our race and it's sad. I can go online and watch interviews or music videos and I'll see men of our race talking bad about black women. Saying we're too thickheaded or act too ghetto and that's why they only date 'white, Spanish or Asian' women."

The fact that I knew some guys like that made me understand Cree's angst. But as far as interracial couples, she couldn't fault everyone for the few guys who hated their own. Chris was my best friend and he was white. He wasn't like those famous people who "acted" black or pretended to like our style for convenience. He was who he was based on how he grew up and who he grew up with. He thought girls of his own race were pretty, but he would mess with girls who were black. I wouldn't have called it self-deprecation with Chris, because in the end, if he thought a girl was worth it, he chased her.

"Okay, but for the paper, you might want to dial it back a little bit and be more open-minded. Saying you get sick of seeing black guys with white girls could make everything go left and that's not what we want."

Cree smirked, crossing her arms. "Oh, I'm not racist, my dog is white."

I stared at her, finding that she was dead serious.

I shook my head and went back to typing. That snarky shit was starting to get cute.

"I guess you're right, though, maybe we should cancel all that. If I say that people will be all over me and—"

"No," I spoke up. "You can say whatever the hell you want to say. If you wanna say you want to start a new generation of black panthers, say it. If someone has a problem with you, they've got a problem with me, because my name is going on the paper, too. I'm going to stand by what you say and if there's an issue—there won't be, because no one wants to have a problem with me."

Cree's eyes grew big but she said nothing. I could sense that she knew I wasn't playing around. Even she had thrown in the towel with me when it came to our short-lived feud, not wanting to face anymore quarrels with me.

In the end I'd help her word her angst better, but she and I were going to speak our minds. It was the sole purpose of my choosing her, to see what we could do if we just stopped beefing. Hearing and seeing her talk about all the things she hated about black culture impressed me. Cree was passionate about something that wasn't mundane like partying or doing basic shit. She had things she wanted to say and I'd be damn if I let her fear of the backlash censor her.

Cree looked down at her notes. "You don't have to do that for me, Dre."

"You're my friend, I take up for my friends."

My words made Cree smile and seeing her lighten up made me smile.

And then my father stepped into the room.

He noticed Cree almost instantly, stopping and staring at her for a moment, as though he'd never seen a girl before.

"Hello, Mr. Parker," Cree said as she looked to my father and offered him a smile.

He didn't return the expression for a moment as he looked to me before turning back to Cree. "Hello, Miss...?"

"Cree Jacobs."

My father put on the charm, smiling at Cree after assessing her for the third time. "How nice to meet you, Cree." He turned to me and the smile dropped. "I was just in a meeting and I came home to tell you boys the big news."

"What is it?"

After deciding that it wasn't a big deal that Cree was sitting in the room, my father shrugged and went on. "Some sport's magazine wants to sit down and do an interview with all the men and women whose offspring took after them in their sport. And looking at stats, I argued that we should get the cover. I've got five NBA titles, my sons will have five or more titles. No one has bred winners like me."

I was fine with winning one ring, but five? Talk about pressure.

"What'd they say?" I asked.

My father grinned. "We're in talk, but I'm sure we'll get it. They'll be here Saturday morning to talk with all four of us." He turned to Cree, sizing her up. "Impressive, huh?"

Cree looked to me, forcing a smile on her face. "Yeah, exciting, I guess."

"You guess?" My father took a step back.

"I'm not really into the whole sports or athletes thing, but it's cool that DeAndre will be in a magazine," Cree went on.

My father chuckled. "Every girl is into athletes."

"Not me," Cree argued. "It's not my thing."

No one went against my father. The only one brave enough was Darnel, yet Cree sat unafraid. Seeing her so unaffected by the news of my being in a magazine made me like her more as a person, and the fact that she was standing up to my father, it was almost comical seeing the mouse stand tall against the lion.

"We'll pick back up when you're free, Cree." I closed my books. Studying wouldn't go well with my father home.

Cree nodded and closed hers as well. "Yeah, Tremaine said he wanted to do something later anyway."

"My Tremaine?" I asked, wondering if he was pulling a Marcus and making a move.

"Yeah, I think we're just going to the mall or something," Cree said.

I didn't worry about it, she was smart enough to ignore Tremaine's games.

My father reached out and grabbed my keys from the table and handed them to Cree. "Would you mind letting me talk to him for a moment?"

Cree accepted the keys and gathered her things and left us alone.

I was already annoyed by the time I glanced at my father. Here we go.

"She's interesting," he said as he came closer, pocketing his hands into his trousers. He suddenly laughed a taunting laugh, rocketing back on the heels of his feet. "All girls like athletes, son, and if they don't, they're the ones you have to look out for."

"What are you talking about?" I shut my laptop and stood from the table, ready to go as quickly as possible.

My father shrugged as if it were simple. "You can't get a girl like that, son."

Even my own father? "Excuse me?"

"I know her type. They're untouchable, they get guys like you hooked, make you focus on useless things and think you're close to getting with them. They play you, son, they just want you to lose it all."

"Cree's not like that." Besides, we were just trying to be friends.

"Either way, you can't have her, she's untouchable. She doesn't like basketball and that's all you care about. Girls like that would make you choose, they break you, and they ruin your life." He looked out the bay window at nothing in particular. "Besides, if you were to go against basketball, I'm sure you could do it with a pretty girl, not someone as plain as her."

Even if I had no interest in Cree, it pissed me off that he'd basically called her ugly. So she wasn't one of the girls like Draya who had a ton of thirsty ass dudes after her, but she wasn't so homely that no one would want to smash. Hell, even Marcus had attempted it in thought, Tremaine too.

But I didn't say anything. I wasn't into Cree and I didn't want to put up a fight against my father for a lost cause.

"Yes, sir," I said as I headed past him.

He grabbed my arm, stopping me, but I didn't turn around as he began to speak again. "This is the last project you're doing together, right?"

It was April, school would be out in less than two months. More than likely there weren't any other projects to be assigned in any of my classes. "Yes, sir."

"Home and back, Dre," he instructed from behind me as he let me go.

I went out to my car and got in, finding Cree listening to one of those rap songs we both put down as a negative for our culture. The song and the irony made me lighten up enough to shake my head with a chuckle and buckle in.

"He seems nice," Cree said as I backed out of my driveway and headed for her house.

I snorted. He'd called her ugly, if she only knew. "Don't worry about him."

"Was I rude for not being excited? Because I think it's cool, but you know, I'm not into sports and—"

"No, you were all right. He's just used to people kissing his ass." When I looked at Cree I saw nothing, but if I caught eye contact with her I couldn't miss the resilience in her eyes when she was pushed. I saw it the day she'd called me out in Ventura's class, I saw it the night at After Hours and at my party and at my dining room table. Cree wasn't plain in the sense that there was nothing special about her, because beneath the surface of just looks, Cree had more going on for herself. Talent, mind, and all.

"Gosh, you must be freaking out over there. Do you remember when everyone swore they were LeBron James's cousin? I bet it's the same way with you Parkers."

My father was an entity in the NBA world. Five-time champion, popular sneaker line, entrepreneur, my father had it all. And people wanted their piece as well. There were a lot of guys who used to try to get in good with my brothers and me, but we didn't play that shit. For me, I was only down with Tremaine, Marcus and Chris, the only three guys besides my brothers who didn't give a fuck about my father or where I came from. Chris would come over swearing Michael Jordan or Scottie Pippen was the better player and that my father sucked, and for that I liked him, for being able to see past the image of Darrel Parker and all his majesty, and just see him as a player with some comparable stats.

Marcus and Tremaine played football, not really giving a fuck about basketball all together. We all came from money, and by some standards I came from the most, but in the end, we were friends based on common interests and meshing well together. They weren't fake and neither was I, which was why after all the years I'd been in school I only rocked with them in the end.

I shrugged. "Every now and then you get the person who's only interested in meeting your dad and acting all hard because of our popularity. It's cool for a while before I get annoyed."

Cree nodded. "I get it. Sometimes you just want to be a normal person, huh?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Still, I feel terrible after telling him I wasn't into athletes, I probably sounded so stuck-up."

"Nah, you were fine. I'm sure when you go home and tell your mom she'll freak out for you," I said. Women loved my father, and he definitely loved them back, if only in a physical sense of the word. He wouldn't bring them home, but he was known for hotel room romps every now and then. He used to keep an assistant that was a woman, but when they got attached after my father eventually started sleeping with them he was always quick to let them go. After that he just hired a male.

Silence was my only response, causing me to look over to find Cree biting her lip.

"What?" I asked, wondering what I'd said wrong.

Cree folded her hands in her lap. "I don't have a mother, Dre."

I nearly hit the brakes. "What?" Everyone had a mother. I had a mother, even if she had walked away from my brothers and me.

Cree looked absentmindedly out the window. "She died giving birth to me. It was always just me and my dad until he got married my freshman year."

I didn't know what to say. It wasn't often I met someone motherless like I was. Even if she had acquired a stepmother, I could just tell in Cree's eyes it didn't count or matter.

She looked over at me. "Yet another thing we have in common, huh?"

I didn't want to respond but I had to. "It's not something people should have in common, Cree."

Another sad smile came to her lips. "Yeah, good thing we have such great dads to make up for it, right? I don't know much about my mom but my dad's been enough, you know?"

I didn't want to relate to her on that level.

I felt...I felt. What, I wasn't exactly sure of.

She sat beside me calm and whole, yet I felt an unrelenting urge to do something to offer comfort. I couldn't figure out why until it hit me.

Empathy. Something I wasn't used to. It was a foreign feeling swirling around inside me, as soon as I realized what it was, I wanted to flush it out.

Still, I reached out to pat her shoulder, but I never got the chance, the ringtone assigned to my father's number rang out, interrupting us.

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"Make Me Proud" – Drake + Nicki Minaj

https://youtu.be/-Ha-V3Q99pw