In the ninth grade, Star and I made our parents sign us up to play flag football after school. It was the first time they allowed girls to try out. I begged her to join the step team with me, but her hand eye coordination wouldn’t allow it. The tryouts were a few months after my dad left us to move to Jamaica, so my mom had me on serious lock down. Right after school I ran straight to the shop every day to avoid getting into trouble.

    The day before the permission slips were due, Star and I were in the shop doing homework until her mom got off from work. She looked up at me from her fractions and said, “Yo, just aaassskkk her! The worst she can say is no.”

    I scoffed, “Oh, you really think that’s the worst she can say? She can’t go five seconds without kissing her teeth and swearing before Jesus to punish de waste man.”

    We turned our heads slightly over our shoulder to watch my mom switch out the warming trays of hot food from behind the counter. She wore a deep scowl and her mouth muttered words we were thankful not to hear.

“Dang, Malaysia. I don’t want to join the team by myself.”

“Shh,” I warned her. “I can’t tell her it’s for football. She’d never let me do it.”

“Come on pleaaasee!” She said with her fingers interlocked creating a dome in front of her chest. “Just tell her we’re going to tutoring. Go ahead. I’ll come with you.”

She poked her bottom lip out to give me a pleading “puppy dog” look. I didn’t really do much work in the shop that my mom couldn’t do by herself. I mostly took out the trash, restocked the fridge, and swept the floors. My mom and my Aunt Millie cooked the food and my cousin, Conrad, worked the counter and register. She would always say I needed to start holding my own weight around the shop. But, I think she just liked knowing where I was all the time. 

    Star nudged my side with her sharp elbow in an effort to get me up. I gripped the table with both hands and climbed down from my stool. I dragged my moccasins across the burgundy tiled floor and walked right through the dust particles dancing in the air. It was half past 4 and my mom was prepping for the dinner crowd to rush in. Her thick arms were elbow deep in a big pot of oxtail stew. She stirred frantically every five minutes so the fat didn’t float to the top. And, every forty minutes or so she’d splash cold water into the mix depending on the ratio of meat to gravy. My mom was in the safe space of tending to her food so I proceeded with caution around the back of the counter. I walked past the sea moss and green juice stocked refrigerators that buzzed so loud I got goosebumps. My body felt like I was marching through quick sand. I could hear Star shuffling behind me, her breath heavy with a slight giggle that tingled in my ear.

    I called her steadily, “Ma?”

    She didn’t answer. I called her again, my voice higher this time. She let out a grunt without fully acknowledging me.

    “Um, so, like … Me and Star were just like thinking about going to um tutoring and stuff. Just for you know-”

    “I know what? Tutoring for what?” Her voice was sharp and pierced like sneakers screeching against a gymnasium floor. She turned to me slightly, but I could barely make out her hazel eyes through the red rims around them. “Well, speak child.”

    Star nudged me in my back again. “Yes ma’am, it’s for geometry.”

    “Geometry.”

Star and I stood quietly, waiting for her to say more. She continued to stir her stew. Her red chipped fingernails gripped the silver ladle as she forced it around in large circles. She slowly pulled it out from the stew and allowed the gravy from the bottom of the spoon to drip back into the pot before setting it down on the warming station. She pulled her navy rag from her apron and patted the sweat from her forehead. I waited for her to lightly stifle a cough before I continued. 

“It ends at five … ma’am.”

    She turned to me with one arm resting on the faux marble counter and the other atop of her hip. “When?”

    “Tuesday and Thursdays, ma’am.”

    “Hmmm,” she looked me up and down. “This little one will be there too, nuh?” She was referring to Star, but stared straight at me. 

        “Um, yes ma’am,” I answered.

    She set herself upright and walked to me until I stood directly underneath her nostrils. “Malaysia. If I find anything and I mean any little thing, I swear before Jesus-”

    “But, ma I-”

    “Eh, eh, I’m not the one little girl. You understand me?”

    “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled.

    “You understand me?” She looked to Star and raised an eyebrow.

    “Yes ma’am.”

    Star and I went to the first week of practices until we grew bored of the entire thing. The coach made us run suicides, take laps around the track and practice sprinting. It was like training for a marathon that was never going to happen. Every inch of our adolescent bodies ached. At that point, I was ready to ‘fess up to my mom so she could give me a remedy to ease the pain. 

By week four, I literally had to roll myself out of bed because I couldn’t manage a sit up. After school that Tuesday I pleaded to Star to just let me go back to the shop, “Who plays flag football anyway?” 

"Us," she shrugged.

"Seriously, Star ... I'm going back to the shop."

“So, you’d rather sit in your mama’s tired old shop? Girl, you’re crazy. Don’t you want a little freedom from that old witch?” 

“Your mama works ‘til seven. Maybe you have too much freedom,” I said rolling my eyes. “Besides we’re only fourteen, how much freedom can there possibly be?”

“And a half… we’re fourteen and a half. Forget football! We have two days a week to do whatever we want for at least two hours,” she placed her hand on my shoulder to stop me from walking. “Seriously ‘Asia, we live in Brooklyn. We can do so much.”

I looked at her, then down the block towards Ocean Avenue and Church where the shop was hidden underneath a forest green scaffold. Star and I have known each other since the third grade. She thought I had a crush on her little boyfriend, Malcolm, back then. He really wasn’t even that cute, but he was the tallest boy in our grade so I can see why she’d think that. She and I became friends in the sixth grade. We never really spoke about Malcolm or anything like that. I just figured people stopped being angry about things when they got older. Except for Star and my mom, they’ve never liked each other. To be fair my mom doesn’t like most people, she likes to say, “People are two face, ‘Asia. You can’t be so darn nice to everyone you meet on the road.” My dad used to tell me that people will do one of two things, make you waste your time or your money. My mom said that’s why he was always in a jam, he couldn’t trust himself to save time or money and blamed everyone else for his problems.

 But, I have ten dollars in my pocket and two hours to spare. 

“Fine. But, we can’t walk this way. I don’t want any of my mom’s old church lady friends to see us.”

We walked down Flatbush Avenue talking about Mrs. Jenkin’s crush on Principal Edwards and how Kayla Fisher was caught smoking cigarettes in the school yard. Leaves crunched under our feet in unison as we walked freely down the avenue. Something about the air feels different when you have no place to go. 

We stopped at every African stand to oohh and ahh at printed scarves, smell dramatically scented perfumes and pretend to lick the cocoa butter we’d rub on the backs of our hands. We took turns knotting the lanyard and warning each other to watch out for dog shit on the sidewalk. When we walked past a group of men, we kept our eyes focused in front of us like tunnel vision. My mom always warned me not to speak with grown men while I was alone. If older women or strollers passed by we’d take turns maneuvering behind one another. We did that all the way toward Flatbush Junction, until Star switched from my side to behind me too quickly and stepped so hard on my sneaker that my heel popped out. 

“Where are we even going?” I asked.

        “I don’t know. But, I need to eat. Fish-stick Tuesday’s should be illegal in school.”

        “For real, for some reason I just don’t think there’s fish in those sticks,” I laughed.

        “Wait, so are we going for a snack … or a bite to eat?”

        “What’s the difference?”

        “A snack is, ya know… well, a snack. And, a bite to eat is something small but kind of bigger than a snack,” she paused for a moment then turned to me and said, “like an app.”

        “Can’t an app be a snack?”

        “Noooo an app is like the opening act to a meal.”

        “And, a snack?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

        “Comes in between a meal!” She said and we both burst out laughing. “Let’s stop by the bodega. I want butter crunch cookies.”

We stopped by the bodega on Foster and Flatbush Avenue. The bell attached to the door didn’t ring until we were already halfway past the counter. A large Latino male yelled at the Yemeni man behind the counter about the lettuce missing from a hero. “I said, honey glazed with salt, pepper, vinegar AND lettuce. You see lettuce on this joint? Nah. And, pass me a vanilla Dutch while you back there!” The man called out as the cashier walked to the opposite end of the counter to fix the sandwich. “And, don’t spit in my shit. I see you.”

I followed Star towards the back of the store, past the cookies and snack section. “Where are you going?”

She placed her index finger over her mouth, as a sign for me to quiet down. She pulled a yellow package of cookies slightly out from her pocket and smiled at me. Something in my gut told me she wasn’t carrying that around all day. I looked around the store frantically. My eyes darted from two-liter beer bottles to dust coated cans of tuna. I looked back down at the package of cookies and wondered why she even liked those cookies in the first place. The toffee gets stuck in your teeth. They’re definitely not worth going to jail over. She slipped the package back into her pocket and placed her finger over her lips again. As she turned around a fat golden brown cat turned the corner from the aisle behind her. We squealed and as Star jumped up she knocked over a can of Goya beans from the shelf. We stood still for what felt like an eternity. The fall from the small can of beans sucked all the air out of the store.

“Let’s go!” Star yelled. She was already on her third step when it finally registered in me to run. I grabbed a pack of Doritos on my way out. Even through the adrenaline mixed in with my heavy breathing I could hear the Yemeni man call out for us “black devils” to stop. The laugh from the large Hispanic man vibrated beneath my feet as we flew through the door. We knew we weren’t being chased, but we had to get as far from the store as possible. 

I heard men shout, “Where’s the fire?” and “Why the hurry honey?” Women warned us to watch out and not to knock anyone over. We dashed past a group of other school kids and wiggled our way through the crowded sidewalk. One of them even jokingly ran along with us for a few paces as their friends laughed behind us. We ran down a few more blocks before Star finally stopped. I hadn’t realized and continued to run until she caught up to stop me.

“Chill, we’re good,” Star said.

“Chill?” My heart was pounding out from my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath for the life of me. I would’ve just went to practice if I knew we’d be doing so much running anyway. “Why would you do that? I would’ve just bought them for you.”

Star shrugged and pulled two packs of cookies from her windbreaker. “I got you one too.”

I hadn’t seen her grab that pack either. At least I know she’s a kleptomaniac on the low. I pulled the chips I swiped from underneath my t-shirt.

“Ha! I knew you took something!”

“Star, we could’ve gotten caught. What if my mom finds out?”

“Girl, the habibi was so caught up with that fat man yelling at him that he didn’t even blink when we walked in.” She opened a pack of cookies and took a bite of one. “Besides, why would I get you into trouble? Here. Take one.”

“Nah, those are trash. When did you take them anyway?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember,” she shrugged again and started walking. “Let’s get food. I’m hungry.”

We settled on pizza from Joe’s on Flatbush Avenue and Glenwood Road. I got the buffalo chicken slice while Star had pepperoni and we shared a can of orange soda. She grabbed a table by the window, but I told her I didn’t want any of my mom’s friends to see us.

“Why are you so scared of your mom anyway? She’s not going to hit you or anything like that,” she said while shaking crushed red peppers atop her pizza. 

“Because why would I want to get in trouble? Ever since my dad left she’s been on a hundred.”

“He probably left because she’s so grumpy… In third period, today, Robin and Darnell said your mom does voodoo in the back of the restaurant.”

“What?” 

“Yeah! They said that’s why they mama’s won’t let them eat there.”

“Well, if I’m there they won’t be able to eat there now anyway!” I said.

“Mmmhmmm, I turned around and told Robin her box braids were hanging by a thread. And, I still think Darnell is a crack baby, so I didn’t say anything to him. But, he knows I don’t trust him. Plus, the meaner she is the better her food tastes,” she shrugged and began to pick the pepperoni from her pizza. “Wait! I’ll trade you that piece of chicken for a pepperoni.”

I slowly moved the pizza away from my mouth and grabbed the biggest piece of chicken and flung it on to her plate. I replaced the empty spot with a piece of pepperoni and continued eating. 

“Why’d your dad leave again? He owes people money, right?” Star asked.

“My mom said his grandma was sick. But, I heard them arguing every night about some gambling man he met in a dollar van,” I shrugged. “That pepperoni is so spicy. Why’d you put so much pepper on it?”

“It tastes better that way,” she said while stuffing cheese in her mouth. She swallowed hard and took a sip of soda before talking again. “Well, is he coming back.”

“He says he is. That’s all grown people stuff anyway… Do you want my crust?”

“True. And, nah... Cynthia told me too much bread isn’t good for you. I’m saving room for zeppolis. You want?” 

I shook my head and stayed seated while she went to get more food. 

My mom has always been stern, but she wasn’t always that bad. Before my dad left she used to let me open the shop with Conrad and Aunt Millie. I’d set up the shop like I’d watch her do every single day. The stainless-steel pot she used for porridge was nearly half the size of my body. I’d bend down into a deep squat with my back arched and gripped my hands firmly around both handles, classic ape position. I’d count to three and force myself up with my knees, poke my chest out hard and do a quick tip toe run to the warming station behind the front counter. I’d let the porridge sit until tan bubbles full of tiny grains formed from the slow boil. Then, I’d sink the ladle in, careful not to let any of the food ooze out of the pot and stir in full circles as the charms from my rose gold bracelet clinked against the steel.

In the summer, years ago, I'd go with her in the mornings and watch her prep for the day as she sang to herself. I would hear the light mumbles of soft reggae music vibrating from her lips, send me that love I’ve been created for. She’d sway her head from side to side and breathe heavily through her nose. She would scoop me up and prop me to rest atop her wide hips and let me stir pot. All the while she’d swing and sway. Throughout the years her humming grew softer and softer. And, when my dad moved back to Jamaica the music stopped all together; she couldn’t bring herself to keep the same rhythm. 

“Yo, you have powdered sugar all over your mouth. How many did you eat?” I laughed as Star walked back to the table. 

She licked her lips and dabbed it with a napkin. “Let’s get out of here. We only have a half hour to get back.”

We rushed out of the pizzeria onto Glenwood Road to head back down Flatbush Avenue. My heart raced like it did after we ran out of the bodega. I didn’t know what was worse, getting caught or getting away with skipping practice and having to do it again. I could already see my mom waiting behind the counter with one hand on her hip and the other atop the counter. Her tired red eyes peered into my soul with a stare that could burn the hair from my arms. The faster we ran the tighter my chest became. We ran two more blocks before I had to stop to catch my breath. My hands were shaking and my lungs couldn’t catch on to the air. 

“’Asia? ‘Asia,” Star stood in front of me as I bent down with my hands on my knees. She placed her hands atop my shoulders and bent down to meet my face. “Are you okay? Wait, let me get you some water.” She hesitated to walk away before adding, “I spent the rest of my money on the zeppolis. You have a dollar?”

I reached into my pocket and handed her four quarters. 

She walked away for a moment and came back with a bottle of water, “drink this.”

I drank nearly the entire bottle in one big chug. I could feel my pulse soften and the clog in my throat began to open. “I can’t run anymore,” I confessed.

“Yes, you can, ‘Asia. You’re just feeling anxious,” she said with concern. “I’m sorry. But, we should go. I told you I wouldn’t allow you to get into trouble. I meant it. Come on. We’ll be there soon.” She reached out for my hand and we continued to slow run and fast walk down the avenue. 

Periodically, she’d ask if I needed more water or time to rest. I honestly didn’t have any money left for more water so I had to power through each breath. When we were four blocks away from the shop we stopped to ask for the time. It was two minutes passed five and we had a few minutes left to get back just in time without looking suspicious.

When we finally reached the front of the shop, Star turned to me for a high five. “Ugh, that was so much fun!... sorry for almost getting you arrested and for almost making you pass out.”

I laughed and assured her it was okay. I had a good time walking around the neighborhood. Being able to see things I’d never seen before and feeling free for once. I could feel like a real teenager and do things on my own. Make my own rules, without straying too far. Today it was running from bodegas and swapping pizza toppings. Next time it could be mixing Italian ice flavors at Prospect Park or riding around on the bus until we were ready to get off at a random stop. There’s more to life than glistening with sweat in a poorly vented Jamaican restaurant. My dad understood that, why hasn’t my mom figured that out yet?

“Wait!” I pulled Star’s arm before she walked in “You have powdered sugar in the corner of your mouth.”

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “You let me run around that like this.”

“Payback for making me run so much,” I laughed.

Our joy quickly faded when we walked into the shop. My cousin, Conrad, and Star's mom, Mrs. Rogers, were sitting at the table closest to the front window. The shop was completely empty. The smell of stale baked bread filled the air. Neither of us had a chance to process the odd pairing. I looked around nervously for my mom to come storming in.

            Mrs. Roger jumped out of her stool and met us at the door. “Where have you girls been?! We were at your school and called all of your friends to find you two!”

A moment of stillness and shock poured over us. Star and I looked at each other with confusion and guilt. I continued to look around frantically for my mom. Is she gearing up to make a scene? The air in the shop felt like it had during the first few months my dad went away.

“Ma, what happened?” Star managed to get out. 

Mrs. Roger’s stood quiet for a moment. I looked at Conrad and he couldn’t meet my eyes. I looked around again for my mom. Conrad rubbed his face with his hand and held it there too long for my comfort. I walked over to him past Star and her mom. I stared at him and waited for him to acknowledge me. 

“Conrad? Where’s my mom?” I looked around the shop. He shook his head and continued to stare down at his hands. I dropped my backpack on the floor and ran towards the back of the shop calling her name. I could hear Star running behind me. 

“’Asia! Wait!”

I couldn’t find her in the kitchen or the restroom. I ran back to the front of the shop, ready to run out of the front door to look for her at home. Conrad was standing by the time I reached my backpack and grabbed it from me before I could get a grip on it. “She wasn’t feeling well, ‘Asia. She’s been sick for some time now… "

           "No she hasn't! She's fine!" I yelled while trying to pull my backpack free. 

           "I-well she… she didn’t want to worry you.” He looked up at the ceiling and exhaled deeply. “She went to the hospital after you left for school. She didn’t want you to miss practice because she knows you really wanted to go.”

I stood there in the middle of the shop working double time to keep my body from collapsing onto the floor. She seemed fine. How can someone just get sick out of nowhere and not even look like it. I’d seen her every single day and never even noticed. She still did the same things she’s always done. How could she get sick now? Without dad here, it’s just the two of us. 

“But, if she wanted us to go practice, why were you looking for us?” Star asked as she walked to stand beside me. 

Her mom shot her a sharp look. 

“She’s not as well as she thought. They had to admit her so she’ll be in the hospital for a few days.” Conrad said.

“She called me while I was at work and asked me to come by early to take the two of you out to the movies or something.” Mrs. Rogers walked to Star and wiped the powdered sugar from the bottom of her chin. “But, it looks like the two of you have been having enough fun on your own, huh?”

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked.

“Your mom will be fine, sweetie. Come-” she hugged me and left her arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go get some ice cream. You can stay with us tonight.”

We said goodbye to Conrad. On the way out the door I realized the open sign was facing inward. My mom never touches that sign. Even if there’s no more food left, she lets people inside to chat while she closes. I was too concerned with getting caught that I hadn’t noticed before we walked in. 

Star turned to me and mouth, I’m sorry, before grabbing my hand as we walked down Ocean Avenue.