Dus has this boy’s arm twisted behind his back and is grinding his cheek on the hot sidewalk. Dus’s sister Bea watches with satisfaction. Her hair hasn’t been combed in days. She had promised this boy that her brother would get him. Dus always makes good without asking why.
He feels how hot the sidewalk is through his jeans.
The crew is always staked out at the house with the most action and the least parental supervision. This day it’s Puerto Rican Angie’s front porch.
Teese has a smirk of fresh knowledge for Sick. “They’n white. They black. She black.”
“Ain’t nobody gon be able to live here after while,” says Teese, not knowing exactly why, just knowing it to be true.
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Sick-ski is short for his mother’s real last name, one of those names where you had to gulp down half the letters and then sneeze them back up to say it right. “You know my daddy brought her ass over here. She ain’t even speak English. She thought he asked her if she wanted to go to the club, or some shit. These people know and they be coming anyway.”
Angie likes Sick, but she’s too light for him. He’s already white-looking, with green eyes. He likes the blackest girls he can find. Teese is number-one on his list.
