Brooklyn Goodbye

PROLOGUE

He was wrong about many things, my father. But

he was right about one; the worst thing to lose is your soul

mate. Some people meet by coincidence, some by fate.

When it’s fate, you’ll feel it, and nothing can keep you

apart. Not even a man-made tragedy.

1.

FATE

I woke up from a failed attempt of trying to pull an

all-nighter, to the sound of my father’s low-pitched,

powerful voice. I couldn’t decipher if he was yelling at me

or yelling to himself. He was always just as angry in either

case. I rolled over and covered my head with my black, silk

sheets that smelled like it’s been a while since Ma washed

them.

The heat blowing through the vent gave me fair

warning that spring hadn’t quite started yet, even though it

was the beginning of April. You’d think I’d be used to it,

but I dreaded dressing in layers and walking to school.

I heard fast-paced movement and heavy footsteps in

the hallway coming towards my direction. Pops. He’s the

only one I knew that had an immeasurable amount of

energy at seven in the morning. I heard him twist my knob

with so much unnecessary force that it instantly put me in a

bad mood.

“Zack, get up,” he commanded, his hard voice

penetrating my peacefulness.

“I’m already up,” I shot back from beneath the

covers.

“Well, get to moving. Ain’tcha got school?”

“Well, good morning to you, too, Pops.”

“Morning. And don’t be a smartass.”

“You want me to be a dumb ass?” I replied,

switching positions.

“Zackory,” he warned, his voice sterner.

I could feel his eyes piercing through my sheets as

the door squeaked while he slowly began to close it.

“And put a move on it. Your mother’s cooking

breakfast.”

“Yes, your majesty,” I sarcastically mumbled, my

face imprinted on the pillow.

“What?”

“I said okay.”

The door closed. I let out a long awaiting sigh as I

threw the covers from over me and looked at my clock; a

quarter past seven. That gave me forty-five minutes to eat

and do my homework before class started. The pale

darkness in my room let me know that it was overcast

outside and it’ll probably be like that for the remainder of

the day. New York can be so depressing during the cold

seasons. Whatever.

My feet felt good against the warm, old wooden

floors. I grabbed my black undershirt from the back of the

chair that sat at my desk, and slipped it on. Sleeping in

anything besides boxer briefs was almost impossible for

me.

The smell of bacon consumed my nose and my

stomach instantly grumbled. I jumped into my basketball

shorts and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth before

easing into the kitchen where Ma stood at the stove,

scrambling eggs around.

“Morning, Ma,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Morning, sweetie.”

She was a good woman, my mother. She didn’t

have a bad bone in her body, which can sometimes work

against her when it’s time to stick up for her self. But she

was sweet, nonetheless, and that accounted for something.

Ma’s side of the family had only been in the United States

for just one generation prior to her birth, so she still had

that European look to her. She stood about 5’4 with blue

eyes that have a green tint to them. I’ve never seen

anything like it. Her naturally blonde hair and slender build

was passed down from her mother’s side. Last I checked,

she was forty-one, but that changes almost every year, so

who knows?

I heard the front door close, with Pops yelling

“Goddamit” to himself shortly after.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Fine, until the Terminator woke me up.”

I grabbed a glass out the cabinet.

“Don’t talk bad about your father.”

“We have any orange juice?” I asked.

“Not sure. Check the fridge.”

Pops walked in, fully clothed in his uniform. Far

back as I could remember, he’s always gotten up at the

crack of dawn; doing anything he can to stay busy. I swear,

the term “give it a rest already” was created just for him.

He put his hand on Ma’s waist and kissed her on top of the

head.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, Allan. Hungry?”

“Starving!” he exclaimed.

He released his hand from around her and took a

seat at the rounded glass table. His mood had since changed

since he burst into my room ten minutes ago. I swear that

has to be a chemical imbalance. He opened up his

newspaper and started on his daily rant about democrats

and other irrelevant news that served me no purpose in life.

“You know, this is gonna be a great four years with

George Bush in office.”

“Pops, not today, please.”

I, for one, didn’t care for what was happening in

Congress. I cut the TV on to drown him out.

“Allan, spare us just this once. Eat.” Ma placed our

plates in front of us.

“Can’t a man talk about matters of the world to his

own family, in his own home?”

“Allan, you’re an Army Colonel. You practically

eat, live, and breathe the government. Can you leave work

at work?”

He put the paper down and picked up his fork with

a deep sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Thank you,” Ma and I both said in unison.

His big eyes, with a hint of crow’s feet in the

corner, focused on his food and he remained quiet for a

moment. He stood about 6’0 even with a medium build of

two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Someone who didn’t

know any better could easily be afraid of his military

mentality and posture. There wasn’t a hair on his chiseled

face, but his head was full of wavy brown hair that he kept

extremely neat and slicked to the back. All of his constant

activeness kept him looking younger than he appeared.

Outside of uniform, he could easily be mistaken for a

model instead of a marine.

Ma joined us at the table after making herself a cup

of coffee from the same coffee pot she’s been using since I

was a kid. They’ve been together for a long time, my

parents; about twenty years. They’re really like night and

day and it baffles me how they’ve stuck it out so long.

Even split up a couple of times, but somehow always

managing to rekindle the flame. And wherever Ma went, I

went. There was no way in hell I was letting her leave me

with that man. Thank God it’s only one of me that has to

put up with his madness. He’s not a bad father. He’s really

not. He’s just stuck in his ways and what he says goes.

Period.

Breakfast was silent, as usual. The TV always saved

us from having to speak too much. Pops’ occasional

outbursts from the news reports were typical, followed by

Ma asking him if he wanted more to eat. It was so routine

… so annoying.

“Pops, you know prom is around the corner, right?”

“Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“So what, you need money or something?”

“Yes,” I tried to happily force out. He always found

a way to make things more difficult than it needed to be.

“You know money doesn’t grow on trees, right,

son?”

“Allan, knock it off,” Ma intervened.

“Yes, Pops. I’ve known since you started telling me

when I was two. Jesus Christ.”

“What’s the matta? You don’t know how to kid

witcha old man no more?”

Another mood swing. I can’t keep up.

“Pops, it’s seven in the morning. I don’t know how

to do much of anything right now.” I pushed my eggs

around before they mixed with my grits. I hated for my

food to touch.

“How much we talking?”

“I’m not sure. I was going to Manhattan today after

school and Ma was gonna meet me there. It’s a couple of

spots on Fashion Ave. that I wanted to look at.”

“I’ll leave the money with your mother.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Meet me there at 4:30, Zack. FOUR THIRTY,”

Ma said, with a “don’t keep me waiting” look.

“I hear ya, Ma.”

“You gotta get going. It’s 7:35 and you can’t afford

to have any more tardies,” she added, sipping from her cup

of coffee.

“I know,” I said as I stood up.

“He can’t afford? I can’t afford!” Pops added.

“Leave your plate,” Ma ordered, grabbing a piece of

my bacon.

“I still gotta finish my homework, too.”

“Really, Zack?” she scolded through her mouthful

of food.

I silently laughed to myself as I left the kitchen,

knowing it would cause a ruckus.

“Zackory, I’m not paying an arm and a leg at that

school for you to be fucking it off, you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” I sarcastically yelled from the

upstairs hallway. I never wanted to attend that stupid

private school, anyway. I’d much rather be in Brooklyn at

the performing arts school. But no, he’s such a control

freak that he’d rather pay for me to go to school for

something I don’t want to be, than to let me go to a public

school for something I would love to be. But I digress.

I threw on my uniform; a pair of gray slacks that

seemed like they were becoming too short for my 5’10

limbs, a white button down, and a blue striped tie. I slipped

into my blazer after I turned it inside out. The silky, red

inside was far more appealing to the eye than the cotton

exterior. It was totally against school dress code, but they’d

rather put up with my informal wear than to lose out on a

$30,000 a-year tuition, so I did as I pleased.

I looked in my mirror and ruffled my sandy blonde

hair into a designed mess; short on the sides and long on

top. I’d inherited Ma’s blue eyes, just without the green

tint.

I jotted down some answers on an English

assignment and ran out the door before Ma called my name

again. Me being the only child and her being a stay-at-

home mom, her main concern was me. Sometimes I felt

like there was more she should be doing with her life but

she said she’s too old to start a career or try anything new,

so that’s neither here nor there. I seriously wonder what

she’s gonna do when I go away to college.

By the time I made it out the door it was two

minutes to eight. It took seven minutes to walk to school.

The morning wind hit my face like a ton of bricks and I

instantly put some pep in my step, leaving behind my

yellow, semi-attached town home with it’s yellow and

white shutters, that I grew up in all my life. The Forest

Hills section of Queens was more residential than city-like.

Nothing about my neighborhood had changed in all my

years there. We still had the same neighbors, the small

driveway still had the same pothole that caused me to fly

off my tricycle when I was three, leaving me with the scar

on my right cheek, and the same mailman with the bald

head and silver beard still delivers promptly at 3:32.

The air was thick and opaque, as usual, and the

traffic was loud and obnoxious once I turned onto the

boulevard. The time always flew by when I walked to

school. All I had to do was sing two Michael Jackson songs

and I was there in no time. The partially blossomed trees

were a clear indication that summer was near, despite the

current, almost freezing temperatures.

Getting to school on time seemed like it never

happened, even when I tried. I was late so often, that after

three years, teachers eventually began to disregard it.

St. Anthony’s Academy stood three stories high

with its sand-colored bricks, and an annex on the south end

of the campus. A lot of spoiled rich kids from Manhattan,

my girlfriend Aubrey, included, attended there because it’s

such a “historically good school.” I could care less. I was

only there because Pops said I had no choice.

The inside of the school looked almost exactly like

it did when they first built it back in 1929, just a few minor

renovations. The bottom portions of the walls were

completely wooden and the windows are high and arched

with intricate patterns throughout.

It was only five minutes past the hour but the halls

were completely empty. I walked into Homeroom and

mentally prepared myself for an inevitable lecture by Mr.

Martinez on how “in the real world, fifteen minutes early is

on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”

His Spanish Harlem accent was thick as all get out.

He was an average height man with salt and pepper hair

and a medium build.

“Mr. Johanson. How nice of you to join us.

However, as I’m sure you are aware, fifteen min--”

I interrupted him.

“Everyday, Mr. Martinez, everyday. Yes, I’m

aware.” I took my usual seat in the middle row next to

Aubrey and placed my black backpack under the seat.

“Well, I would advise you to take your education

here at St. Anthony’s more seriously. Your looks will only

get you so far and as you’ve noticed, no grades, no varsity.

“Thanks again for reminding me, sir.”

He gave me a hard look and retreated to his desk,

unfolding his arms.

I leaned in and kissed Aubrey on the lips.

“And if there’s no varsity, there’s no me,” she said.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

I put my tongue in her mouth.

“Hey! Hey, you two! Knock it off. You know better

than that,” Mr. Martinez shot out. “The hell do ya think this

is, the Bronx?

She released herself from my kiss and flipped her

hair. She was pretty, popular, and rich; daddy’s little girl

who got any and everything she wanted. According to the

latest polls, she’s the queen of the school. You know, to say

this is a “private” institution; things sure get public really

fast.

Our relationship was so cliché, and secretly, that’s

what I hated about it; the stuck-up cheerleader dating the

varsity jock. Typical. Grosse. Expected. And contrary to

popular belief, I’m far from typical. But we were together

nonetheless, and have been since the beginning of the

school year. Her mother thinks I can do no wrong and her

father calls me his future son-in-law. They’re good people

and they’ve always treated me fair.

“Zack, you’re still catching the train to Manhattan

after school, right?” Aubrey said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yeah, I gotta go pick out my tux.”

“PLEASE make sure you get the right color of

purple.”

“Jesus Christ, Aubrey. Why are you so fixated on

purple?”

“For the millionth time, Zack, it represents royalty.”

“Oh yeah, of course. Wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t

royal,” I sighed.

“Zack, don’t be a douche bag. This is my prom

we’re talking about.”

“Hey, it’s my prom, too, ya know?”

“Prom is for girls, Zack. Guys are only there as

accessories.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a prom if this ‘accessory’

didn’t show up, now would it?”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Her upper lip twitched, letting me know I had

gotten under her skin. I smiled a wide, annoying, victorious

smile. She knew she could never win with me.

The classroom door slammed and I instantly knew it

was Charlie. He’d been my best friend since elementary,

and after years of me playfully bullying him, we finally

stood the same height. He was Italian like Aubrey, with jet

black hair and a bone structure out of this world. His

eyebrows were so ridiculously thick that I wouldn’t even

judge him if he were to get them arched.

I was surprised he was late. He was never late.

“Zaccarino!” he shouted, ignoring Mr. Martinez as

he rubbed his knuckles on the top of my head before he sat

on the opposite side of me.

“Knock it off, will ya!” I said, combing my hair

back into place with my fingers.

“Hey, Aubrey.”

“Hey, Charlie.”

“What I’d miss?”

“The usual,” I replied.

“Good. Nothing,” He said, and then rested his head

on his forearm.

Charlie was worse in school than me. His parents

were loaded. I wouldn’t be surprised if they paid the

teachers to pass him. Studies weren’t his strong point, but

he made up for it in just about every sport.

The bell rung and we all went our separate ways.

My next two classes, Chemistry 1 and Spanish 2 flew by.

By the time lunch was over, the day just seemed to drag for

the next three hours. I ended up meeting Aubrey in front of

the school by the visitors parking and we walked to the

subway together. Though she’s considerably, already a tall

girl, her legs seemed much longer when she wore the

schools skirt uniform with her socks pulled all the way up.

The sun had found it’s way to Queens and the

clouds were no longer anywhere to be found, it was still

only about fifty-four degrees. The birds chirped away,

anxious for the winter to make its full exit so spring could

be more stabilized. The rumbling of the tracks told me that

we were soon approaching the J train. The Woodhaven

station was usually pretty quiet. It’s not until you get closer

to the city when things become hectic and overcrowded. I

found us two seats near where the rear of the train would be

stopping.

“I think I wanna throw some type of end-of-the-year

shindig,” Aubrey said as she sat down and crossed her legs,

pulling up her socks as far as they could possibly stretch.

The wind was always higher on the platform.

“A shindig? People still say that?”

“Or party … or whatever.”

“You should. No one else is.”

“I’d have to ask Daddy, first.”

“Oh knock it off, would ya? He never tells his little

princess ‘no’,” I teased.

“I know, right?” she agreed.

She flipped her hair again. Her favorite thing to do,

obviously, and pulled out her two-way pager. Whenever

any type of electronic device came out, she was the first

one at school to have it.

“I don’t know how you keep up with that thing. I’d

lose mine in a heartbeat.”

“Please, I’ve already lost three.”

“How responsible of you.”

“You want one? I can have Daddy buy one for you.

He knows a guy in the Bronx that sells them for cheap.”

“Nahh, I’ll stick to the good ole fashioned land

lines.”

“Seriously, Zack, it’s 2001. You gotta get with the

times, eventually.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The oncoming J train blew its horn and came to a

powerful stop. I lead the way and ushered Aubrey to sit

next to the window while I took the aisle seat. It’s about a

thirty-minute ride to Manhattan and I was completely in my

own world until she started to call my name.

“Zack! Zack, are you listening to me?”

I wasn’t. The screeching of the subway tracks were

overpowering her high-pitched voice and my seventeen-

year-old attention span didn’t make it any better. Not to

mention, it was New York and there’s a million and one

things going on around me. A Spanish guy was standing in

the middle of the aisle playing his acoustic guitar while a

homeless man with a mangy beard and lint-covered trench

coat panhandled between the passengers; I handed him a

dollar. I didn’t have much to give, but hey, I guess there’s

always someone less fortunate than me.

The next stop was Marcy Avenue. The anxious

commuters inched their way to the door as the train slowly

came to a stop. Fifty people scurried their way out while

fifty more bulldozed their way in. Brooklyn during rush

hour … great. You’d think I’d be use to it but I wasn’t. And

honestly, I could do without all the unnecessary

crowdedness that comes along with going into the city.

People piling on top of each other, rushing and falling over

one another; we didn’t have those issues in Queens. It’s a

little more civilized than the other boroughs. Well, maybe

not Staten Island, but definitely more than Brooklyn,

Manhattan and the Bronx.

The subway doors slammed close as the last of the

heathens piled on top of one another. A girl, who wasn’t

fortunate enough to make it through, hit on the door and

turned away in frustration. Suddenly, the doors popped

back open, as they often do, and she quickly slid through.

And then … time stopped. It was like she was the

only one moving, her hair blowing behind her. Even

through her frustration, she gracefully eased between the

other commuters. If that whole “love at first sight thing”

existed, then that’s what I was feeling.

“Zackory Johansson!”

I felt an elbow in the side of my rib cage.

“Sorry, Aubrey,” I said, still half-dazed, half-

smitten. I was really trying to work on being a better

boyfriend. Girls like attention; an annoying amount of it.

She sat up from resting her head on my shoulder. “I zoned

out,” I shamefully admitted.

She looked at me with those soft, peculiar eyes and

naturally arched eyebrows; the eyes that made me fall for

her at the beginning of the school year.

“Yeah, I’ll say,” she playfully replied.

Her thick accent was like listening to an old New

Yorker from the ‘60s. She ran her fingers through her curly,

pretzel-brown hair that kept falling over her face. Her

naturally tanned, Italian skin was smooth as I rubbed her

cheek with the back of my index finger.

“I’m gonna listen to my headphones. You don’t

mind do ya?” she asked.

“Am I boring you?”

“Pretty much,” she said nonchalantly as she slid her

headphones on. I kissed her on the cheek and she rested her

head against the window.

The train unexpectedly jolted forward and so did

everyone who was standing up. The girl’s book fell onto

my foot and I reached down to grab it. U.S. History. Ugh. I

couldn’t believe people actually took those things home

with them. I hadn’t taken a book home from school in

years. I looked up to the petite girl with long, dark hair and

light brown eyes. She seemed to have more hair than she

had body. She reached for the book. Her warm touch felt

good brushing against my cold, clammy hands. I hate my

hands.

She rudely didn’t thank me.

“You’re welcome,” I said, irritated. She gave a

quick glance and went back to holding on to the railing to

keep stable. “Sophomore?” I asked, looking at the book.

“What?” she asked in a standoffish tone.

“Sophomore, right?”

“No,” she replied, steadily trying to keep her

balance as the train violently rocked side to side.

“Oh.” Awkward; kind of. She continued her

interrupted life and I let her be, grabbing Aubrey’s hand

and putting it into mine, giving it a mild brush of my lips.

Her stop would be coming up shortly; Essex, the first stop

in Manhattan. There’s nothing like the view of the city

when you’re coming from Brooklyn. The April sun shined

on top of the skyscrapers, which reflected back to give it a

beautiful metallic glisten. Everything was so massive and

colossal. Almost looked to be unreal. I slouched in my seat

and leaned my head on Aubrey’s shoulder for the

remainder of time we had left together before she got off,

playing around with her hand while it rested in mine; her

nails short and naturally sculpted. I’m overly critical when

it comes to a girl and her hands. I don’t want anything to do

with you if your hands aren’t pretty. Weird, absolutely, but

that’s just me.

We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and entered the

underground tunnel, signaling that we were approaching

the Essex stop. Aubrey, with her eyes closed, hadn’t

realized, so I tickled her stomach.

“Get up, sleepy head. It’s almost time for you to get

off.”

She sat up and took off her headphones, putting

them into her book bag that all the cheerleaders at school

wore.

“Wow. I don’t know how I fell asleep so quickly.”

“Maybe you should stop staying up so late on the

phone with that guy,” I joked.

“Well, maybe that guy shouldn’t be so in love with

me that he can’t hang up the phone.”

“Aw, shut it up,” I teased, smiling as I kissed her on

top of the head.

“You’re a real charmer, Zack. A real charmer.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m a New Yorker.”

“Zack, you’re from Queens, that’s not New York.”

“Oh, really, Aubrey? We’re gonna go there today?”

“No, we’ll go there tomorrow.” She kissed me on

the cheek and hopped out of her seat as the train slowed to

a stop.

“Love ya. I’ll call ya later,” I said, shifting my legs

into the aisle so that she had room to get out.

“Love ya more.”

She hurried off before she got lost in the shuffle of

the human traffic jam. I scooted to the window to let

someone else get a chance to have a seat. The girl who

dropped the book on my foot was still standing, looking as

if she was struggling to keep her balance, while she read

some other book with one hand and held on to the rail

above her head with the other.

“You can sit down if you want, ya know?”

“I don’t mind standing,” she said, her head never

leaving the pages.

“Stand until you fall? Look like ya holding on by a

thread.” She was small and her arm just barely reached the

railing. She slightly glanced at me from the corner of her

eyes like I had somehow offended her. “Hey, I was just

trying to be nice, that’s all. I’m sure somebody else’ll be

glad to take this seat.”

She looked around at the oncoming traffic of

pedestrians and took the seat.

“Thanks,” she said, very short.

“What’s the matta? You never sat next to a white

guy before?”

“I don’t care about you being white.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“I didn’t know it was a crime to want to stand.”

“Hey, you dropped your book on my foot. A heavy

book, might I add. The least you can do is be nice and take

a seat if I offer it.”

She said nothing.

“Geesh. Maybe chivalry should be dead.”

“Whatever.”

“The hell is this anyway?” I asked, snatching the

book from her grasp. It was a novel. The cover read When

The World Is Over.

“Are you crazy!”

No, I’m Zackory, and you are?”

“Annoyed.”

“Nice to meet you, Annoyed,” I said, annoyingly

smiling as I handed her the book.

I put my hands into the pockets of my school blazer

and turned to the window, looking out at the graffiti

passing us on the tunnel walls, wondering how in the hell

people found the courage to walk down there and actually

do that. You gotta have a lot of balls to wander

underground amongst the darkness and rats of New York

City.

“Junior,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.

“What?” I looked at her with a slight frown,

confused.

“I’m not a sophomore. I’m a junior.”

Oh. I guess she must’ve gotten over herself.

“Nice. Where at?” I asked.

“Brooklyn High School of the Arts.”

“You guys have to take history at an arts school?”

“Is that a serious question?”

I laughed. It was. What’s the point in going to an art

school when you still have to take history and all that other

irrelevant crap like math and science?

“What do you do, dance or something?” I asked.

“Dance? Why, because I’m black?”

“Wait, you’re black?”

“Haha,” she said sarcastically. I laughed at our

humor. It was innocent … and entertaining. “That was for

the white joke a few moments ago,” she rebutted.

“Ok, good, now we’re even. No more racist jokes.”

“What school do you go to?”

“I’m not in school.”

“Dropout?”

“Graduate.”

“Liar.”

“Totally. I’m a junior, too. I go to St. Anthony’s

Academy.”

“So I’ve known you all of two minutes and you’ve

proven yourself to be a liar and a joker. I knew I

shouldn’t’ve sat here.”

I laughed.

“So, I’m a joker,” I admitted. “I just like to have

fun, that’s all.”

“At other people’s expense.”

“Why so serious?”

She turned back to her book.

“Sorry, I’m Zackory. Most people just call me

Zack.”

“Zackory will do.”

“Um, ok. What’s your name?”

“Jada, but most people call me Jada.”

I gave her a blank stare. “And you say I’m the

joker? Ha!”

She slightly smirked, showing a dimple in her right

cheek that was half-hidden by her cinnamon brown

highlights, which matched almost exactly to her

complexion. She was a pretty girl to say the least.

“St. Anthony’s Academy. Isn’t that in Queens?”

“Yeah. Good ole Queens.”

“Then why are you going this way?”

“Going to meet a friend in Manhattan.”

“A friend? Or another girl?”

I smirked. She had obviously noticed Aubrey.

“Observational, huh?”

“I’m from Harlem. We’re born that way.”

“You looked like you were so into your book.”

“I was. But I’m always aware of my surroundings.”

“No, I’m going to meet my mother, actually. Gotta

go pick out my tux for prom.” She stayed quiet, so I

continued. “So you go to school in Brooklyn but you live

way up in Harlem? That’s gotta blow.”

“Yeah, well, anything worth having is worth going

after.”

“No denying that.”

The automated conductor gave notice that we were

approaching the 2nd Avenue stop. The train blew into the

terminal, blurring the crowd of commuters standing by

anxiously to be the first aboard. She put a bookmarker

between the pages and put the novel into her leather over-

the-shoulder bag.

“This must be your stop.”

“Yep. Green Line to Harlem.”

“See, it wasn’t so bad sitting next to a white boy,

now was it?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that,” she said,

nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Maybe even

furtively admiring how quick on her feet she was.

“Well, guess I’ll see ya next time.”

“That’s highly unlikely in New York, but thanks for

the seat, guy.”

“Zack,” I corrected.

“Zackory,” she corrected me.

“Zackory, your highness.” I playfully bowed as she

stood up to exit the train. She tried to refuse her smile but it

crept to the corners of her mouth and both her dimples had

become visible. “Gothcha!” I teased.

“Bye,” she said with a smile, rolling her eyes;

knowing I had won the battle.

“Bye, Jada,” I smirked.

I watched her as she forced her way onto the

platform. She was a tiny little thing, but intimidation was

not one of her worries and confidence was her key. She

held her own and made her way through the crowd that

towered over her. I watched her in route until her black

jacket became one with the traffic as the train zoomed

forward and she was no longer in my sight.