Young-Love

CHAPTER 9: ZURI'S POV III

“I mean, what the f**k have I just done?”

I sat there, my heart still thumpin’ like it was caught in a drumline. “First day in high school and I’m already in the damn principal’s office. Of course. ‘Cause that’s just my life, huh?”

I ran a hand down my face, tryin’ to calm the fire in my chest. My knuckles were still buzzin’ from the swing. My jaw sore from his grip. That boy had hands the size of hubcaps. What the hell was he? A linebacker? A mob enforcer?

And why the f**k was I the one sittin’ in the hot seat?

“I said hi to this chick,” I muttered to myself. “All I said was wassup, sis. That’s it. She the one who came at me sideways. All snotty, like her s**t don’t stink. Called my outfit trash—like, b***h, you a walking magazine cover or somethin’?”

I leaned back in the chair, arms crossed tight. The burn in my throat had nothin’ to do with the fight.

“And then he came in,” I gritted. “Like some protective pitbull on a Gucci leash. Ain’t say hi, ain’t ask questions. Just went straight to choking. Like I’m the problem.”

My eyes scanned the room.

And then—

BANG.

Door swung open. Dude didn’t even knock.

That same heavy-footed boy from earlier, stormed in like the principal’s office was his dad’s penthouse.

Teachers stepped between him and me real quick.

“Move,” he growled.

The principal raised a hand. “Carl, this is serious—”

So, his name’s Carl... Tch. Figures.

“I want her gone,” he said. “She assaulted me first.”

I stood up. Nah, you ain’t pinning that narrative on me.

“You choked me, fool,” I shot back. “I defended myself.”

He took a step closer. “You disrespected my sister.”

“She disrespected me first.” I fired back.

“You don’t even know who she is!”

“I don’t give a f**k who she is. Royalty or not, I ain’t bowin’ to no bitch.”

Dead silence.

Yeah, I said that with my chest. ‘Cause where I’m from, respect ain’t earned by money or last names.

Carl’s jaw clenched. Dude stepped forward again like he wanted round two.

“Say that again,” he dared.

I squared up. “I said — I ain’t bowin’ to no bitch.”

BANG!

Principal slammed the desk, red in the face.

“ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU —CARL OUT!”

He pointed like he was Moses partin’ the sea.

“Carl, go to the nurse. You, young lady — suspension. Maybe more.”

I didn’t flinch. My heart was racin’, sure, but I wasn’t gonna let them see it. I wasn’t gonna cry. I ain’t no victim.

“I want her expelled!” Carl barked as he stormed out, probably callin’ his lawyer with one hand and flexin’ his ego with the other.

The principal looked at me. I saw it in his eyes — fear. Not of me. Of them.

I took a breath and stepped forward.

“Sir,” I started, “this is a scholarship thing, right? You saw what happened. You know I didn’t start this. I ain’t gonna let you ruin my future over your fear.”

He looked down, rubbed his temple like this was above his paygrade.

“I have a family,” he said softly.

My eyes narrowed. “...And?”

“I have to think about them,” he mumbled. “The Lovereigns… they’re—just understand. My hands are tied.”

And that’s when it hit me.

The system’s never been for us.

No matter how much talent I had. No matter how clean I stayed. The moment I got in the way of the rich, I was disposable.

“f**k it,” I whispered. My voice was dry, cracked from all the yelling, the betrayal.

I grabbed my bag and stood tall.

“I ain't got time to beg, man. Just sign the goddamn expulsion papers. I’ll be on my way.”

The principal looked up, surprised.

“No use tryna fix what y’all bent from the start.”

He got some document, wrote my name on it, signed and stamped it. And like that I’d been expelled. But I was still mourning from what had just happened, my scholarship was gone so I asked him.

“Is it possible for me to try again for a scholarship next year?”

He just looked at me direct in the eye.

I didn’t wait for a response, I knew my time at Queens High had come to an end within thirty minutes. My sneakers hit the tile like hammers as I walked out.

“So much so for gettin’ my hopes up.” I muttered.

The second that door opened, I knew eyes would be on me.

But damn. I didn’t think they’d stare like I was a damn circus act clown.

I stepped outta the principal’s office, head high, knuckles tight ‘round the expulsion papers. That paper felt heavier than my whole fuckin’ life.

Whispers already buzzin’.

Cameras low-key pointin’.

Phones slid into pockets real quick like I ain’t just see ‘em tryna catch my downfall.

I stopped dead center in the hallway, lifted the papers up like a protest sign.

“This,” I yelled, my voice crackin’ just enough to sting, “this right here? This is evidence the whole fuckin’ system rigged.”

Nobody said a word.

“Problem is—y’all ain’t got no one to stand up for you sissy-asses.”

I let it hang. Let it echo.

Still nothin’.

Then from the back, some dude’s voice shot out like a bullet:

“WE AIN’T BROKE LIKE YOU, b***h!”

Laughter exploded like fireworks.

Whole fuckin’ hallway bust out.

Laughter that hit like bricks. Laughter that clung to my skin, my clothes, my scalp.

Like I was the punchline in a joke I ain’t even write.

I froze.

Stared at every face. Every smug-a*s smile. Every fake friend I’d made today morning laughed at me.

My lip quivered—but I clenched it shut—I swear it fuckin’ hurt.

I wasn’t gonna let these people see me cry.

Fuck no.

I turned. Walked fast. Then ran.

Ran past the lockers, the smirks, the whispers.

Past the trophy cases and Queens High gold-lettered bullshit.

Past that place I thought might save me.

To make matters worse at the front doors, I found that girl—um... Carl’s sister and her minions as if they were waiting for me.

“Serves you right peasant!!!” The girl said, “My name is Queen B, and this is my school.”

Her minions burst out to some sort of evil laughter. I was literally a laughing stock now. But I was tougher than these bitches, ain’t no way I was gonna let this Queen b***h—prolly that’s what the ‘B’ stand for—step on me, no one steps on me even when I was in juvie.

“Queen b***h” I said confidently “If I were you, I would start sleeping with one eye open at night.”

I gave them the cold serial killer smirk as I passed by them, this was enough to scare their punkasses and even when I’m expelled, these bitches will from now on watch their backs in fear of me.

I burst through the front doors and that’s when I saw them.

Tiana and Trae.

Just getting outta a black Honda, all smiles like nothin’ was wrong with the world.

Tiana’s eyes caught mine. They changed real quick.

“What’s wrong, cuz?” she asked, comin’ up quick.

I didn’t say nothin’. Just shoved the papers into her hands like they were on fire.

She looked down at ‘em.

“Expulsion? What the hell happened?!”

“I’m done,” I snapped. “I’m fuckin’ done.”

Like a dam bursting, tears finally started spillin’ like they’d been waitin’ for the green light.

“Why is it always me, huh? What the f**k did I ever do? I try. I try hard. I left the streets. I stayed outta juvie. I earned that scholarship, T. But now?” I shook my head.

“It’s like the world don’t want me to win.”

Trae walked up beside me, quiet at first. He didn’t clown or make a joke like he used to. Just stood there, brows tight.

“You got us,” he said finally. “You still got us.”

“I had a future, Trae.”

“You still do—”

“NO I DON’T!” I screamed. “I had a plan. This was the only damn way out! Outta the projects. Outta the pain, I’m going through man. Outta the cycle.”

My voice broke.

“I got nothin’ to live for now.”

Tiana reached for me, arms wide, but just as she pulled me in—RRRRIIIIIIINNNNGGG—the school bell screamed across the courtyard.

She glanced toward the doors. Then back at me.

I knew what she wanted to say. “I’ll stay with you.” But I beat her to it.

“Y’all better get goin’,” I muttered.

“I ain’t leaving you, Z.” Trae protested.

“Dude.” I shot back. “You got a scholarship to maintain, I got nothing, I’m goin’ back to public school, let me not be the reason you lose your scholarship too, y’all go in.”

“You sure?” Trae asked, eyes soft. Different than before.

“Yeah. Go. Don’t let them take your shot too.”

Tiana bit her lip. “We’ll talk after, aight?”

I just nodded.

They walked off, hesitant, lookin’ back more than once.

I watched ‘em fade into the school like it wasn’t burnin’ my whole chest apart.

Then I turned, papers still clenched in my hand, and hit the pavement.

Back to the projects.

Back to where I came from.

Back to fuckin’ square one.

###

The subway ride back to Queensbridge was hell on steel wheels. Every screech of the train felt like a slap to the face. I sat there, hoodie up, earbuds in, music not even playin’. Just tryna exist without losin’ my damn mind.

But it was like the universe said ‘Nah, not today, lil’ girl.’

This tall-a*s dude in a bubble coat slid up next to me, eyes wide like he’d just seen Beyoncé.

“Ayo,” he said, grinnin’. “Ain’t you the girl from the fight vid?”

I squinted. “What fight vid?”

He laughed and pointed to his phone. “Girl, you trending! Beat the brakes off some bougie a*s chick in designer heels. Got her brother chokin’ and all.”

Heads turned. A girl in a corner seat gasped. “Wait, that’s her? For real?”

Another dude across the aisle chimed in. “Damn, you got hands and heart. Respect.”

Soon, everyone was lookin’ at me. Phones out. Some takin’ pics, others recordin’. I felt like I was in a fuckin’ zoo.

I sighed, peeled back my hoodie.

“Yeah,” I said. “That was me.”

“Yo, what happened?” someone asked. “Heard you was at that school with a scholarship right?”

I leaned back. “I was. First day. Tried to be civil. Chick disrespected me, her bro tried to choke me, I defended myself. Guess who got expelled?”

Everyone went quiet.

“That’s crazy talk,” said a woman in a nurse uniform. “They expelled you?”

I nodded. “Yup. Principal said he got a family to feed. Translation? I’m poor. They rich. So, f**k me.”

“Man, that’s foul play.”

“For real.”

Another voice—some college kid with earbuds hangin’—leaned in. “So what’s next for you then?”

I chuckled. That dry, broken laugh that ain’t got no joy left in it.

“I’on know man,” I said. “Maybe I hit the streets like my pops. Ain’t like school want me anyway.”

The car went silent for a sec. Nobody had s**t to say to that.

When the train pulled up at my stop, I stood and nodded to the car.

“Y’all keep scrollin’ though. Enjoy the show.”

I dipped.

Stepped out into the mid-morning air, which felt warmer now. Or maybe that was just life breathin’ down my neck.

As I walked back towards the Bridge, I pulled out my phone. Figured I might as well see this “trending” mess for myself. Clicked open Insta. Searched my name.

There it was. Viral.

Over 200k views.

Caption: “Project Girl Throws Hands at Queen B & King of Queens on First Day”

Damn.

I scrolled more, eyes dartin’ as I saw comments like:

“She a menace lmao.”

“She wild but she real.”

“That’s Queensbridge for you 🤦🏾‍♂️”

“Yo, lowkey rooting for her tho.”

Then came the next vid.

Posted just minutes ago.

My subway rant.

Someone had recorded me venting. Captured my whole quote about hittin’ the streets like my dad. Slapped a messy caption on it:

“She said it herself. Juvenile thug energy. No remorse. Sell that dope kid.”

My heart sank.

Oh no.

Uncle Roscoe.

He sees this—s**t’s over. I sprinted the last few blocks home.

Ran past old heads on the stoop, past broken streetlights flickering like dying hopes. Burst through the building’s door, up two flights, and pushed through the apartment door—

—and there he was.

Uncle Roscoe. Pacing the floor like a bull in a cage. Eyes bloodshot. Belt in hand.

“Zuri,” he said low. Too calm. “You out your fuckin’ mind?”

I froze.

“Unc, I—”

“You got the whole city laughin’ at us. At me. You said you were goin’ to school. And now you on camera sayin’ you hittin’ the streets like it’s a joke?”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“It’s just been one fuckin’ week of keepin’ you clean. No dealing. No corner runnin’. And you throw it away in one subway ride?”

“I ain’t throw s**t!” I yelled back. “They threw me out! I got expelled for defending myself.”

Roscoe’s hand gripped the belt tighter, I smelt a beating coming.

“Now I gotta deal with this—this viral bullshit. You back here, after all I promised Dre—”

“You ain’t my dad!” I snapped.

Silence.

Those four words shut the air down.

Uncle Roscoe stared. Hurt flickered in his eyes, just for a second, before the anger took over again.

“I ain’t your dad, huh?” he muttered. “But I’m the only one left that gives a damn if you end up dead tomorrow.”

My throat tightened. My fists balled up.

And then—I ran.

Out the door. Down the stairs. Into the street.

I didn’t know where I was goin’. Didn’t care.

All I knew was I needed to breathe.

Same bench. Same damn court. Same concrete jungle breathing down my neck like it owns me.

I sat there, facing the chain-link fence, the rusted hoop hangin’ on for dear life. Court was empty — just me and my thoughts.

“Damn,” I whispered. “This is real life.”

Same line I’d muttered two months ago when the cuffs clicked on my wrists.

Back then, I’d robbed a convenience store 'cause Pops was gone and the fridge was empty. Now? I was fresh outta Queens High with expulsion papers in my bag and my name burnin’ up every feed in NYC.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, starin’ at the faded paint on the court. I’d thought about going back to my old public school down the block. PS 97. Where survival was its own class. But Queens High? I thought it was different. Thought maybe it was a chance to leave the gutter behind.

Turns out? Same system. Different ceiling.

I dug my sneaker toe into the gravel. Thought about Dad.

“Sorry, Pops. I let you down again.”

I closed my eyes. If by some miracle, I got that scholarship back... I’d change. For real. Stay low-key. No more throwin’ hands unless I had to—actually never. Just ball, study, and shut the world out ‘til I graduate.

If only.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Coulda been two hours. Coulda been three. But the sky was shifting. That late afternoon glow hittin’ the rooftops.

Then I heard her.

“Zuri!!!” she cried out.

Little feet smacked the pavement, fast. I looked up and saw Kiki — bookbag bouncin’, braids flyin’, big goofy grin like she’d just seen Santa at a bodega.

She flew at me, arms wide.

“Zuri, you’re famous!”

I caught her mid-sprint, hugged her tight.

“It doesn’t matter, Ki.”

“It does matter,” she said, pullin’ back. “You beat up the King of Queens! That’s big!”

I rolled my eyes. “Who is this 'King of Queens'? I only know him as Carl.”

Kiki blinked like I just told her water ain't wet.

“Hello?? Do you live under a rock or somethin’? That’s Giancarlo Lovereign. His dad literally owns this city—or that’s what kids at school say.”

My whole body went still.

Lovereign?

I had to be sure, “Is he at any way related to Malik Lovereign?” I inquired.

“Yah!” Kiki replied “That’s his dad, the man I’m literally talking about right now, try to keep up.”

I swallowed.

Carl... Lovereign.

I felt like I’d been sucker-punched. That name — that bloodline. Kiki kept ramblin’ but her voice was underwater now.

Carl’s dad killed my father—what a coincidence—what a small fuckin’ world we live in right.

I promised Uncle Roscoe I’d let it go. Keep my head down. Be safe, forgive and forget about the man who killed my dad. I did as uncle Roscoe told me to—I swear I’d moved on.

But now? Now his son humiliated me, I lost my scholarship cause of him. And his daughter disrespected me, b***h has made me a clown in New York City.

That family has cost me everything.

I swear on my dead father’s life I won’t rest till they all burn.

Malik Lovereign and your family, the fuckin’ bogeyman is coming for you—I’m coming for you.

I stared back at the court, hands tremblin’ on my lap.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Kiki said, pullin’ out a real-a*s penny from her pocket, holdin’ it up like she just cracked a case.

I laughed — just a soft one. The kind that didn’t reach my chest.

“It’s nothin’, baby girl. I just realized I owe your pops an apology.”

“For what?”

“For losin’ my head. For makin’ him worry.”

I stood, brushed the back of my jeans off, and took her tiny hand.

“C’mon, let’s go. I’m cookin’ tonight.”

“You? Cookin’? We gon’ die.”

I chuckled, squeezin’ her fingers. We walked back through the projects as the sun dipped low — two girls, one shadow of a future, and a whole lotta buried fire.

But inside me?

My rage was just gettin’ started.