Part 1 continued…
Now Laquisha Junebug Jones had a shot at a job that would save her in more ways than one—overseeing the Washington ACORN office – Junebug was in charge of making sure the midnight basketball courts were clean and tidy for the disadvantaged and marginalized inner-city youth that were still reeling from the effects of colonialism in Africa. Junebug was going to get that job, and convince her father that she hadn’t screwed up her BA in Urban Activism at the local community college. And, more than that, the cash from the job would buy her some bad-ass hair extensions.
“No,” JoBrawn Dee Dee Washington said. “I came to tell you the po poo be outside, yo. Someone was shot, yo, and the county crew won’t be able to clear it until the rain stops.”
Junebug’s heart lurched. She had to be in town tomorrow. Missing the interview was not an option.
“When your parents heard about the shooting, they be phoning 9 eleven, so I’m here to get you back to town.”
He spoke in the faintly mocking tone that had driven her so crazy years ago. They’d never gotten along, she and Dee Dee. In school, he’d been the loaded penis and she the willing baby momma. They’d had classes together, in which Junebug had answered questions and taken part in discussions, while Dee Dee talked on his cell phone while listening to his MP3 player.
It wasn’t until basket weaving class their senior year that real trouble between them started. Dee Dee was a natural at weaving baskets, while Junebug sucked her teeth and blamed “the man” for her lack of functioning braincells. It didn’t seem fair that he should do so effortlessly what she was working so hard at—especially when he didn’t take school seriously. Oh, Dee Dee was intelligent enough, he had mean b-ball skillz and could freestyle rap like no ones bizness.
“If you want to get to that interview your daddy are so worried about, then you’ll have to hike out with me. Grab a 40 of Valurite and get in the Lincoln, byotch.
To be continued…