“f**k him, baby girl,” Brooklyn said the next morning as we sat at a small café where we’d decided to get breakfast. Students paid $3 for a full breakfast, a cup of coffee and a glass of juice, so we often went there when we wanted pancakes or biscuits and gravy. “He’s just a stupid boy that doesn’t know what he’s passed up.”
She poured blueberry syrup all over her pancakes and dismissed Kenny from her mind.
She’d come into our room around 9 am, ten minutes after I woke up and she’d swept me into her arms. She’d seen the tide of emotions I couldn’t hold back anymore the instant she came in the door and she’d comforted me. She’d allowed me to blubber as I got the story out, and then she’d sat up to push me away.
She’d marched me into a pair of jeans, one of my school hoodies, and a pa
