Page 43 of Collateral Love
“People don’t question activity if it looks productive,” she told me. “That’s how institutions survive scrutiny.”
She didn’t talk about killing, but was ready and kept her piece at all times.
She didn’t romanticize violence.
She planned around it.
That scared me more than any gun ever had.
I started staying in her single dorm longer than I needed to, pretending to be too high or drunk to make the trip back to campus.
I began showing up even when everything was running smoothly.
I enjoyed watching her work and listening to her talk. She would nerd out about the weirdest fucking things, like collecting all the Furbies while singing along to the3LW album. But as irritating as Shawty was, I couldn’t shake her fine ass. I would find myself staring at her full lips and lying about daydreaming when she would call me out for staring.
One night, I found her sitting on the steps outside the engineering building, notebook balanced on her knee, pen tapping against her lip.
“You good?” I asked.
She looked up. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby,” I said.
She smirked. “You’d know.”
I sat beside her.
“You ever think about what we’ll do next?” she asked.
“After what?”
“After the system works,” she said. “After it scales. After that, it outgrows this campus.”
I thought about Crestwood. About blood and names and legacy. I thought about keeping my brother X safe and making enough money that Mom could get an in-home nurse to manage her Lupus medications and help her try natural remedies and cook vegan foods to ease her flare-ups.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
Silence settled between us.
“What you have in mind, Bestie?” I smiled.
YaYa opened her mouth to respond when some corny motherfucka walked up to her with roses in his hand.
He was some pretty-boy from one of the fraternities, jogging up like he had permission to exist in her space. He leaned down and kissed her cheek too casually.
My jaw tightened before my brain caught up.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready?”
“Almost,” she replied, closing her notebook. “I told you I had work.”
“It’s always work,” he laughed.
She stood and slung her bag over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Zay,” she said.
