Darnel wasn't picking up. It had been two weeks since we last spoke or seen each other. I blamed Ashley. I blamed college. I blamed everything that was getting in the way of his coming around or speaking to us. This was unlike him to turn his back on his family. He always came home or at least called.

         I sat at Chris's house up in his bedroom waiting to get in contact with Darnel, but so far, it was a no-go.

I wanted to leave a voicemail calling 'Nel out on his shit, but he picked up. "What do you need, Dre?"

No 'hello, how are you'?

Swallowing down the first bitter thought that came to mind, I pushed past it, ignoring his tone of sounding stressed. "You've been MIA."

"I've been busy. Do you need anything?"

Yeah, my brother. "Too busy for us?"

"I've got a lot on my mind right now...." Darnel paused before adding, "I just need some space."

"Space?"

"I just need time away from the family. There's a lot on my mind and I don't need any bias distractions, plus with finals coming up I just need all the space I can get."

I had the biggest feeling Ashley wasn't getting space. But I didn't bring it up.

"So we're a distraction?"

"I'm not saying that—look, I gotta go. I'ma call in a week or two, okay?"

I didn't respond. My hand was too busy shaking for me to respond. He wasn't abandoning us. He wasn't changing who he was. He wouldn't do that. He couldn't do that. Never.

"It's going to be okay. I love you, Dre."

"Yeah." I hung up and set my phone aside.

Fuck him.

Chris came back into the room carrying two bottles of water. He handed me one before retreating to his bed and scooting back until he was sitting up against the wall.

We were supposed to play basketball, but I had to pick Cree up from the dance studio and I didn't want to do it all sweaty. I lived fairly close to Chris, but wasn't in the mood to travel home and then go and get Cree.

"I need a favor," Chris came out and asked, bringing me from my thoughts of Darnel fucking up.

"How much?"

"Your dad's going to take Devonte to Miami after graduation, you going?"

I shook my head. They were going for a week and it was tradition for it to be one on one.

"My dad's going to chew my ass about geography and I know he's going to be bitching for the first week of summer about it..."

Chris was stalling. "How much?"

"I wanna throw a rager at your crib. A big blowout to celebrate the end of the year and the fact that we're now seniors."

I was on one. "Fuck it, let's do it. Just don't play no more of that rock shit you be listening to."

He wasn't really into rock music, but he did listen to some questionable genres of rap every now and then.

"I know what to play. The new Eminem album is dope."

I stood to my feet. "No."

"Eminem is—"

"Overrated," I finished. "Nobody wants to party listening to dude talk about killing people or rape."

Chris clicked his tongue. "So when Pac talked about it, it was okay?"

We would be here all day if he wanted to go there. I headed for the door. "It's different."

"How so?"

"Better flow."

Chris called out to me as I headed for the steps. "We're playing, Em, Dre!"

"I'm taking a Gatorade from your fridge for Cree," I shouted back up the staircase. "And you better play the hits only."

I went and grabbed the hydrating drink from his fridge before going and getting in my car. Before I could start it up my cell phone rang, letting me know my father was calling.

Setting my phone up to the car, I put it on speaker and backed out of the driveway. "What's up?"

"I just got home from a meeting. Devonte's tutoring some girl at the library and I was wondering where you were," said my father.

Devonte had successfully landed a threesome with his two girlfriends, but then one got jealous of the other and they wanted him to choose. Naturally, Devonte chose neither and ditched them both and had been on the prowl ever since. A few girls had brushed by me in the hall once and said we Parkers were commitment-phobes, which wasn't exactly true. At eighteen and seventeen, Devonte and I weren't interested in committing to one girl, but I saw a future where I put aside basketball and hooked up with one girl and one girl only. Even Devonte wasn't so against the idea. He just had a stupid knack for fucking with people's feelings currently. I prayed for his sake this girl he was tutoring wasn't next on his list, because sooner or later, the shit he got into would catch up to him.

"I was at Chris's house."

"Oh, you two shoot around?"

"We were supposed to be, but I have to go and pick up Cree."

The tension was there even if I wasn't in the same room with my father. I knew he was shaking his head in distaste at the mention of Cree. He had nothing to worry about. Cree and I'd been cool for a month and we were nowhere near about to hook up or any other cliché shit my father was dreading or some girls at school had in mind.

Really, as long as she was chasing fairy tales and bullshit, she'd forever be alone. Her ideal guy didn't exist at seventeen and the sooner she realized this, the sooner she could stop selling herself a dream.

"You need to hurry up and smash that and get back on track," my father urged.

Get back on track. Focus on basketball and showing out next season and wowing scouts. Right.

It was already a done deal. We weren't following each other, but the boys and I all wanted to go to OSU. Tremaine and Marcus were practically a packaged deal and scouts had been watching them since freshman year. With basketball, it was the same for my brothers and me along with Chris, with our father being who he was and our proving that athleticism ran in the family, we were making waves in the paper as well.

"I'm not interested," I said as I tightened my grasp on the wheel.

"Good, I've already got one boy out here acting stupid, I don't need two."

He had that right. Darnel had lost his damn mind and needed someone to set him straight.

"Not happening, Dad."

"So you're studying?"

"We're meeting up to finalize our paper for class. Is that okay?" I tried to keep the irritation from my tone, but his constant questioning me about Cree was getting annoying. First he didn't see what I saw in her because she was so "plain" and "homely," one of which, she was not. I found it grating that he wanted me away from the possibly of a relationship with Cree, yet was bothered by the fact that she wasn't bad like Troiann. Was it not better for Cree to look like Cree than girls like Draya and Troiann?

It was then that I decided not to bring Cree over my house. While part of me viewed the idea of the two of them debating as humorous, I wasn't in the mood for him to chastise me or walk around, conveniently taking interest in our paper and spying on Cree.

"Your tone, Dre."

"You're digging, trying to see if I like her or something and I said I didn't. How much clearer do I have to make myself before you get it?"

We weren't supposed to talk to our father so brolic, but sometimes when pushed, our attitudes came out.

"I don't want you losing sight on what's important."

"I've been playing basketball for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't let anything get in the way of that. You should know that by now."

Everything made sense out on the court. Nothing could ruin my mood when I was playing ball. Stress melted away and all was at ease while I played the game I loved. Nothing ever came close to ball. No girl, no matter how bad she was, or how much of a good fuck she was in bed, could ever be on the level of basketball. Only my family and friends deserved that honor.

Basketball was my life. If I wasn't playing basketball, I wasn't DeAndre, and if I wasn't DeAndre, then who the hell was I?

"That's what I like to hear. You better work hard, I want all As on your report card." He hung up with a joke. We both knew I would be bringing home nothing less than a B at the lowest.

My cell phone rang again and this time it was Marcus.

"Let's go downtown," he said as soon as I answered.

"What's downtown?"

"I don't know. Wanna try some boxing or something? I'm bored."

"Can't, I'm about to work on my paper with Cree. Why don't you hit up, Troy?"

Marcus groaned. "She's with her Mom somewhere."

I wasn't getting the issue. "You do realize you're just hooking up, right?"

"Right."

"Then why don't you go get it from someone else if you want it that bad?"

For a moment the line was quiet and I could tell Marcus was thinking over his options. He and Troiann weren't a couple in either of their eyes, yet now that Troiann had told Cree about their hooking up, they often did hold private conversations or share inside jokes when we were all together.

Troiann was different from most girls Marcus messed with. She wasn't out to be his girlfriend and she didn't care about his whereabouts or who he flirted with, granted she did roll her eyes if she caught another girl flirting her ass off on Marc, but she didn't make a fuss. Marcus even said she didn't even like to cuddle or talk about what they did together.

I knew Marcus too well and I knew despite himself, he liked her for not pressuring him to be with her in a relationship. I knew he liked her because she wasn't trying to change who he was. I knew he liked her because he kept going back.

"Then I'd have to hear about how I'm out here making her look stupid or something."

"Troiann wouldn't care."

"She'd cut me off in spite."

"And?"

"I'm not done yet."

It was up to him to realize why, so I didn't push. "All right, but maybe later we can do something. I'm trying to get this paper done. It's due Monday."

"Cool. Hit me up when you finish."

I agreed to call him later and hung up.

I pulled into the studio's parking lot and got out of the car and headed over to the entrance. It was four thirty and Cree should've been done preparing her routine for the talent show. She wouldn't let me see her dance or let me know what she had planned. She wanted me to wait and see with the rest of the school. It was her way to get back at me for setting her up in the first place. With the talent show a week away, I had a strong feeling Cree was about to kill it. The few other kids who had signed up seemed to be doing mediocre things like juggling, magic tricks—some dude planning to do a semi-strip tease to Trey Songz.

Cree would win hands down.

She met me in the lobby with her gym bag on her shoulder, dressed in a tank top and yoga pants, ready to go.

I held out the Gatorade for her. "Hey."

She accepted the sports drink and smiled up to me. "Hey, thanks."

"How's it going?" I asked as we headed out to my car.

"I think I just about nailed it down," Cree replied. We were walking side by side but she stopped and turned to stare at me. "Something wrong?"

"No. Why?"

"You seem irritated. Is everything okay?"

Not with Darnel. Not at my house. No. "Everything's fine."

Still, she looked skeptical. "You sure?"

"Yes, Cree."

She shook her head and reached out, taking and holding my hand. "I'm here if you need to talk, okay?"

I dropped her hand and headed for the driver's side. "Noted."

Cree rolled her eyes and joined me in the car. "So Tremaine is already planning his 'Summer Smash' list or whatever. You guys are a trip, you know that?"

"So he has summer goals, what's so wrong with that?"

Cree shook her head. " 'Summer goals,' Dre?"

"Summer goals, Cree."

Now she was crossing her arms. "You know what your problem is?"

"I have a big feeling you're about to tell me."

"You're living through your dick, that's your problem."

I was nowhere near on that status like Tremaine and Marcus. But she was entitled to her own opinion. "I'm not a player, I just—"

" 'Crush a lot'?" Cree finished with a smirk.

Of course she would choose to quote the clean version. I shook my head, flashing her a smile. "The correct word was 'fuck,' Cree, but we'll go with your answer."

Cree leaned over and elbowed me, but she still smiled and laughed at my joke.

"So the dancing is going well?" I asked.

"Yeah, I've made my mix and my routine is pretty solid so far. My aunt loves it."

"Okay, I've just been hearing things out in these streets about you being nervous."

"These streets? DeAndre, you live in an affluent suburb."

"Whatever, you better kill it."

"I'm sure I will. I heard Ellis Thornberry is singing and you know she can blow."

I shrugged. "You got that right."

Again Cree elbowed me and laughed.

I pulled into her driveway behind her father or Loraine's car and parked.

Cree looked at her house and frowned. "Here?"

"My place is getting played. We gotta switch it up."

Cree obviously didn't like this suggestion as she made a face and got out of the car. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that her father was home. According to her, they were closer before Loraine and barely did anything one on one due to her. She said it wasn't intentional on her father's part, but it bothered her, that and the fact that he wasn't supportive of her dancing.

Mr. Jacobs came and met us at the door. He took one look at me and faced Cree, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

No one wanted their precious daughter dating a tattooed, popular, handsome ball player. Our reputation said more than our good deeds ever could. With Cree, we were friends, but to her father, I was probably scheming on the low.

I held my hand out to shake with him. "Hello, Mr. Jacobs."

He shook my hand but said nothing, still eyeing Cree.

Cree reached out and patted her father's chest. "Oh Daddy, knock it off. DeAndre and I are just going up to my room to practice making grandbabies for you."

He took in a sharp breath through his nose. He didn't like her sense of humor.

Mr. Jacobs had nothing to worry about. When Cree was around my eyes never lingered below her neck, if he noticed at all.

He stepped out of the way and allowed us into the house. "You dancin' too much, girl. You losin' weight."

Cree grimaced and said nothing as she led me down the hall into their kitchen. I got the feeling she was relieved when he didn't follow us. Her letting out a breath confirmed it.

I tapped her arm. "You okay?"

Cree shrugged like it didn't bother her but I knew she was lying. I had a father who could be a bit much at times and for that I didn't push her.

"I got you something," she said to change the subject.

"Yeah?"

She poked me. "It's food."

She brought me food? She may have been right. We might've had to go up to her room and "practice making grandbabies" for that one.

"Turkey sandwich and Cherry Coke?" It was what she usually made me but only because she'd learned quickly that the two were my favorites.

"Better. We gotta switch it up sometimes, no routines."

"But I like those two."

"I brought you a Mediterranean, it's a flatbread sandwich and there's Cherry Coke."

"What's on it?"

"Mortadella, pepperoni, salami, provolone cheese, baby arugula—"

I frowned. "Doesn't sound like a turkey sandwich."

Cree huffed. "Come on, old man, let's show you."

She headed over to her fridge and brought out a Styrofoam carryout box. "I made it yesterday but it should still be good."

Cree heated the sandwich up and handed me a cold Cherry Coke. And soon she was sliding the sandwich on a plate over to me.

"It looks greasy," I said taking notice of the red-orange grease pooling on the plate.

"But it's good."

It did look good and she had gone through the trouble of making it for me. I took a bite and found that she was right, it was good.

Cree smiled with delight upon seeing my approval. "Told you."

I set the sandwich aside and wiped my hands. I opened the Coke and took a long sip, still wishing for a turkey sandwich. "I'll eat it later. What candy do you have?"

Cree cocked a brow. "Uh-uh, you ain't getting none of my sweets after you stay harassing me about how much I eat them."

I smirked, lifting a brow. "I can't have none of your candy, Cree?"

Cree visibly trembled, looking elsewhere. "Oh I bet you have some witty comeback about my not sharing my candy, Dre."

Feeling playful, I stepped closer to her. "I could just take your candy and call it a day."

Cree looked to me. "Take my candy?"

I nodded. "Take it. Own it."

She slit her eyes. "What is it with you guys and possessing things?" She shook her head and placed the sandwich back in the carryout box after wrapping it. She put the box in the microwave and turned and led the way out of the kitchen and to the staircase.

This was the first time I'd been over Cree's house for longer than a minute, let alone about to see her room.

Cree was different from most girls and I didn't know what to expect upon stepping into her room. For some reason, I had a hard time picturing a normal room with posters of R&B singers or rappers or from films.

When we made it to her room I found my curiosity answered.

Her room was the paradigm of innocence. Her pink bed sheets with the white and pink quilt overtop sent warning signs through me. Cree wasn't the type of girl you fucked, but the typed you..."made love" to. Something that I wasn't capable of. It was a good thing we were friends, or else I wouldn't feel right about sleeping with her.

Two of her walls were pink and the other two were white. The whole color scheme of the room was pink and white. Along one wall she had cupboards built into the wall and a wardrobe. The panels of the cupboards were pink while the borders were white. In a corner she held a toy chest with Cree on it and its panels were also pink with white borders.

When she'd been in my room for the first time she'd explored, and for that I did the same thing as I headed over to her toy chest to see what she had inside.

She had an old Ring Around the Rosie doll that was black, just like the rest of her Barbies and Bratz dolls, they were all black. I wasn't surprised. When I was younger and would go to my grandmomma's house to play with my cousins, she and my aunts would only buy my girl cousins black dolls, stating that if their white friends didn't have black dolls, why should they have had white dolls. My father wasn't a part of that movement, when we played with action figures, they were of all races.

There were a few kid books in her chest, one particularly called Me and my Period: the Girl's Guide to Learning About her Body.

I frowned. "Eww."

Cree clicked her tongue. " 'Eww'? There's nothing 'eww' about what's natural."

I'd heard enough about bleeding uteruses for one day. "Natural or not, I'd rather die than bleed from my dick every month."

I'd obviously offended her by the way her lip curled up. "If you can't handle what happens naturally to the female body, you oughta get with a boy then."

I shrugged and sat at her desk. "Maybe."

Cree scowled and went and sat on her canopy bed. She grabbed her backpack and sat Indian style as she dug through it for her notebook.

I'd grabbed my own bag from the car. I set my laptop on her desk and opened up to the document I was typing our paper on. The paper was pretty much finished, we just had to go over it for agreements and disagreements and that was it.

For the most part Cree had proved me right when it came to my decision to bury the hatchet and write a paper together. She had amazing points and her writing was just as good. She may not have been super popular at parties or school or some star, but she was passionate about our people and culture and when Mr. Donatelli read over our paper he would see it.

But there was one point Cree had made that nagged at me and I felt the need to correct before turning the paper in on Monday. I knew bringing it up would cause a big debate but Cree was my friend, someone who I was trying to be 'best' friends with, and if she were to be my 'best' friend, I would treat her like I would one of my boys and speak up when I disagreed with her.

I let her talk first, deciding to break the ice before going for the tough part.

"I really think people often misjudge Kanye West," Cree was saying as she sat across the room from me on her bed. "Like he rants a lot, but he's saying real things. We as black people own nothing. You see a rapper or a singer with a clothing line, merchandise, or 'empire,' but in reality, they get very little percentage wise from their brand. We're nothing but a label corporations use to make money. What good is having a brand when you receive like ten percent from it?"

There were a lot of rappers who did radio interviews talking about publishing and how some of them didn't own any of their own stuff, the record labels did.

"And when Kanye's denouncing these corporations he's doing it because there is still racism and classism involved. There are a lot of old men who don't want to see us rise and shine and own something. So I think for the part about how we can better our culture we should mention that, how we should get good educations and build something for us to own someday. I mean look at your dad, he's a staple in Ohio and in the NBA, and he's built malls for God's sake."

My father owned a mall, a barber shop and a sneaker store that were all very successful in Cleveland and in a few other major cities like L.A., and New York. My father fell in line with being nothing more than a label or sticker, because companies had come to him to make shoes like the Parkers so they could use his name to make money. Cree was right, I had a feeling what my father made off of his shoes was change compared to what the companies made.

I typed in what Cree had said and added in my own input. After reading it out loud and hearing her feedback and fixing some wording, we had finished one portion of the paper.

Cree raised her pen to illustrate another point. "I also wish we had more creative black screenplay writers. I grew up watching Roots, Boyz N the Hood, and I don't mind watching those old films now, but the fact that year after year in this new day and age we're getting constant slave, butler and maid movies drives me mad. Or someone's cracked addicted mom or whatever. When do we get to see normal and healthy black films? Black spies, black doctors, black scientists, can't we do something else but swallow down another history lesson or perpetuated stereotype?"

I chuckled and typed up her point. There were a lot of sports or music films regarding black people, a different topic wouldn't be so bad.

Cree sat on her bed bringing up points we had missed and I typed them in and changed things around as I looked at the paper from top to bottom. When I felt like we were done and made a mention of e-mailing her a copy, I dreaded what came next.

"I think we're done," Cree said.

Not yet. "There's just one more thing I wanna talk about."

"What?"

"Your view on interracial dating." I looked over and caught her appearing surprised.

"Oh?"

"What you say about black people and white people dating may read some type of way, Cree. I get your point but I don't think you should feel that way."

I could tell she was about to go on the defensive. Whenever Cree felt a certain way or frustrated, her brows would knit together in a frown and she'd either have a hurt or determined look in her eyes. But she would never back down, no matter what the challenge. It was that zeal alone that made me respect her no matter if I agreed with her views or not.

At the moment the look in Cree's eyes was one of irritation.

"But it's how I feel about our culture."

"And I think you should be a little open minded about it."

Cree bit her lip and looked away, breathing hard through her nose, causing her nostrils to flare.

"So I'm supposed to not talk about how I feel about the disrespect black women get from black men when they choose other women over us?"

"I'm not saying you can't say you dislike that, but I'm saying you shouldn't say you dislike all couples of that variety. I understand how you feel, but I don't agree with all of it. You do know that we don't have to date black women, right? I could have an apple tree in my backyard, but does that mean when it comes to fruit I have to only eat apples?"

While I personally preferred to mess with black girls, I had no qualms against Tremaine or Marcus when they talked to the Latina or the Asian girls at our school, or when Tremaine flirted with Emily Gardner who was white. Draya Young wasn't completely black, she was mixed, bi-racial, and I still liked her enough to want to smash. But neither of us did it in contempt against black girls.

Cree huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "The most disrespected person in America is the black woman and no one is defending her. When something goes wrong and a black man is wrongfully imprisoned or murdered, we all band together and support, but when it's a black woman, who's standing up for her? We're the ones who bring you into this world, we bare your children, we cook your meals, we listen to you complain about injustice, we let you rest your heads on our bosoms, we're your support and when we get hate hurled at us, who's having our backs? Nobody, black men are quick to bash black women just as much as the rest of them."

I almost wished we could present our paper in front of the class. Hearing Cree's angst made me glad I picked her. She brought so much to say to the argument. It was easy being a male in America, but she was right, she was a female, a black female, she had it ten times harder.

"I have to straighten my hair, be super educated, dress proper and good is not enough. You have these white girls who are famous for nothing and mediocre and they get all the accolades, but as a black woman I have to fight for one. People can say we're all the same but that's bullshit, this is America, the land of hate, not equality. You know there are little black girls who won't play with a black doll because they don't think she's pretty or important?" Cree shook her head. "So you can't tell me I'm wrong for feeling the way I do. When you go online and watch interviews of your favorite female singers or actresses and you see people in the comments saying she's ghetto trash, a monkey, or that her hair's a certain way and they could never date a black woman, then you can get back to me on how I feel. The Internet—"

I got what she was saying but she shouldn't have let the people online get to her. They were cowards who wouldn't say the same thing in the light of day. "The Internet's irrelevant."

"No it's not. The Internet is the real world, it's where people let down their costumes and say what's really on their mind. In person they can smile in your face, but in their mind they can see you and me as just another 'dumb nigga' or something. And when it's black men who see black women this way, it hurts.

"For black men, white women are the American dream. Ever notice how a black man makes it and he gets himself a pretty white girl on his arm and a fur coat? Look at advertisements, music videos, hell their personal lives with these actors and athletes. There's a lot of talk about making it in 'White America' and overcoming obstacles, but the first thing a black man does when he 'makes it' is get himself a white woman. What is it about black women that makes them disposable once a black man has made it? I can understand meeting someone of another race and it genuinely happening, no big deal. But there seems to be fewer and fewer depictions of black love once a man or woman has 'made it.' I just find it hard to believe it's genuine when nine times out of ten a black man will date out of his race before his own."

"Cree, just because a black guy gets with a white girl, Hispanic girl, or whatever does not mean it's to spite you."

She shook her head. "I only like black guys, DeAndre, I can't help it, not that I want to either. Now how am I supposed to feel when more and more they would rather date some white girl, or a girl who's exotic because I'm 'not good enough'?"

She looked down and fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist. "I just want to be beautiful, Dre. I just want a black boy to look at me and see beauty and not all those things out there that's stereotypical bullshit. I want to feel equal to all girls. I want to feel important and to be told that I matter."

Her voice was breaking and her face said she might cry. This was deeper for Cree. She was truly scarred from all the hate she'd seen against black girls.

Fuck. She was my best friend, or else I wouldn't have found myself doing something I wouldn't deign to do for anyone.

I stood from her desk and went and got down and kneeled before her. Looking up at Cree from this angle, I could see the unshed tears in her eyes.

Cree wore her hair long, thick and what some chicks deemed nappy and others deemed natural. It hung just past her shoulders. Some days she'd wear it up in a bun, others she'd wear it pushed back, secured by a headband, and others she kept it in a ponytail. By no means did her hair look messy or un-kept, its kinky texture stood out at Moorehead where most girls either wore their hair in braids, relaxed or extended with weave. Not Cree, she didn't dress like other girls either or even carry herself that way. Troiann kept a social media account Marcus had showed me and on it were a few pictures of Troiann and Cree. Cree would never wear clothing that clung to her curves or pushed up her breasts or poked her ass out. I suspected having been raised by her father had much to do with how Cree was.

It was one reason why the boys and I didn't see her getting with just anyone. Cree was not a bad bitch or the girl you wanted to fuck at a party or club, she was one of those rare gems who deserved better. I wasn't bullshittin' her when I spoke out against guys like the boys and me. Our viewpoints on girls and women shouldn't have inspired or deterred her. We were assholes, and she could've done better.

When it came to all those black guys out there who would take a look at Cree and assume she was just some soon-to-be high school dropout or someone's baby momma.... Fuck them. They were so incredibly wrong. She was smart. She was talented. She was kind. She was passionate. She was worthy.

I licked my lips, finding the words that I needed to say to my hurting best friend. "You're beautiful, Cree. You matter way more than those sellouts out there who judge you based on bullshit. Your beauty is more than skin deep. I couldn't be friends with you if you changed, Cree. I'm not impressed with features or partying and sex, or any of that other mainstream shit out there. You're different than them, you have more to you than just looks or what's poppin' right now, and that's why I wanted to be friends. I think your mind's the most beautiful thing about you. You are not a stereotype and they are wrong."

Cree sniffled. "You're not just saying that because of what happened before?"

She was talking about her date from a couple of weeks before when I'd said she was cute and she felt as though 'bad' was better and beyond the compliment. "Nah, word is bond, I mean it."

Cree bit down on her lip and looked away as she wiped at her eyes. If I knew how to offer more comfort or compassion, I would've.

"Thank you, Dre," she said in a soft voice that let me know I had touched her.

I knew what I had to say next would be hard for her to hear, but she had to hear it or else she'd miss the entire point of my argument.

"No matter what, I represent your father wherever I go. If tomorrow I get desperate and go rob a liquor store, people are gone look at your father different. It doesn't matter if he's a good guy or not. One of us does something fucked-up and we all get shit for it. Is that fair?"

Cree shook her head dejectedly. "No."

"I feel your pain on these guys out here dogging black girls as a whole, but it's not fair to judge those guys who genuinely fall for white girls, Asian girls, or whoever. Now is it?"

Cree frowned, biting down on her bottom lip again. "No."

I tapped her calf to gain her attention. "Hey, I get it, as a black girl, you're dealt a bad hand in the world sometimes. But you can't fight hate with hate. You're a queen, Cree, and no matter what these wack dudes are out here saying about the girls your color, it doesn't make you any less. Shine your crown and stunt on them, you're far too talented to fall in line with half these basic chicks they go and get in place of black girls any way."

Slowly the corner of her mouth curled up. "Thank you. You're good at this."

"Good at what?"

"Empathy. You're learning, Dre."

"What good is a friendship if we're not learning from each other? We good, Cree?"

"Yeah, we're great."

"So tomorrow if I go out and try to wife Emily you're not going to stop fuckin' with me, are you?"

Cree slit her eyes. "Now you're pushing it."

I stood and shoved her. "Come on, what's your answer?"

Cree rolled her eyes, offering a tightlipped smile. "It's Christian Wednesday so I can't say no. I always try to be one with the Lord on Wednesday."

Her smart mouth never got old. "Cool, come on. Let's go watch Save the Last Dance just for the occasion."

Cree scowled and pushed me away. "For the record, my best friend's mom is Vietnamese and her dad is black, I love Anh and Howard to death and wish they'd fix their issues. They met at a supermarket. I'm not against interracial, DeAndre, I just think it should be cosmic and not intentional. To not like your own race and prefer to date out of it is not something I can support."

There was no hatred there, and I could understand that point versus being completely against it. "Fair enough."

It was easy to talk to Cree, even if we would argue or disagree. Knowing it was a lot for her to see things my way I decided to throw her a bone. "My dad wants to read the paper too."

Cree turned from her DVD collection and faced me. "Yeah?"

"And he'll probably kill me for this, but, I was thinking, how about for the paper we discuss the pressure for a black boy to grow up to become a rapper or an athlete? How come parents aren't encouraging their sons to become librarians, nurses or teachers?"

Cree smiled. "I like that and I'm sure Poppa Parker will, too."

My father would have my neck if he thought I was speaking out against going pro. But if Cree was willing to attempt to change her view for our paper then I was willing to take the heat over the argument.

After all, it was what best friends were for.

_______________
"Don't Change" – Musiq Soulchild

https://youtu.be/TzBD8t0sB-4