When You Look Like Us

by Pamela N. Harris

  Mr. Boyce takes a newspaper off the coffee table and uses it to knock off imaginary crumbs from his couch. He points to it and Riley and I take a seat. Mr. Boyce hobbles to the recliner across from us and grunts as he follows suit.

  Me and Riley’s knees bump against each other as we sit in silence. I clear my throat and scoot farther to my end of the couch, my foot banging against the leg of the coffee table. A framed picture of a snaggle-toothed Kenny at about nine or ten vibrates from my clumsiness.

  “Sorry about that,” I mutter.

  “No apologies necessary,” Mr. Boyce says. “It gets a bit cramped in here.”

  “I think you have a lovely home,” Riley says, and points to a framed picture of footsteps in sand on the beach. “And I love that painting. My mom keeps it and the poem that goes with it in our guest bathroom.”

  “You guys keep poems in your bathroom?” I ask.

  “It’s a poem about the Lord,” Mrs. Boyce says, returning from the kitchen with two plastic cups filled with sweet tea, I presume. “The Lord is always with you, Jay. Even when you’re doing your business.”

  “Good to know,” I say, taking a cup from Mrs. Boyce. “And thank you.”

  “And he’s especially with you now.” Mrs. Boyce hands Riley her cup, and then sits on the arm of the recliner, right next to her husband. “I heard about Ms. Murphy. I’ve been meaning to send flowers. How’s she doing anyway?”

  “Much better, ma’am. The doctors said she might be able to come home in the next few days as long as she promises to take it easy. I might have to handcuff her to her nightstand, though.”

  Mrs. Boyce cackles. “I know that’s right. Ms. Murphy’s been a busybody for as long as I remember. I always told her that when the day of reckoning comes, she’d be right next to God, giving directions to people on which way they’re supposed to go.” Mr. Boyce and Riley join in with her laughter. I guess that’s my cue as well. I force out a laugh, though it’s such a foreign feeling that my ribs strain from it.

  “You said that Kenny borrowed something from you?” Mr. Boyce asks.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Riley takes a sip from her tea and peeks over at me. Right, that’s my cue again. Step up your game, Jay.

  “Yeah,” I say finally.

  Mr. and Mrs. Boyce both look at me, waiting for the next part of the story.

  “My shirt,” I say, and immediately try not to frown. How many guys borrow shirts from each other? “Dress,” I add. “Shirt comma dress. My dress shirt.” Riley takes a huge gulp from her tea. I’m alone on this one. “He needed to borrow mine for a job interview, but now I need it back. For a job interview.”

  “Kenny? Job interview?” Mr. Boyce asks. “Must’ve been a cold day in hell.”

  “Now stop that.” Mrs. Boyce swats at his arm. “That’s good. He’s showing he can be responsible. Kenny’s not here, but it might be in his room. What color is it?”

  “White?” I try.

  “I could help you look,” Riley says. “I mean, if you need me to.”

  “I think I can manage. I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Boyce shuffles toward the back and Riley glances at me, somewhat defeated. I know she wanted to lay eyes on Kenny’s room to find another dot to connect. But maybe we could find one some other way.

  “Kenny’s not home?” I ask Mr. Boyce. “I haven’t seen him around lately. What’s he been up to?”

  Mr. Boyce huffs. “Your guess is as good as mine. That boy’s been dizzy ever since he got kicked off the basketball team.”

  “Kicked off?” I repeat. “I thought he got injured.”

  Mr. Boyce shakes his head. “Only thing he probably injured is his mind. That would explain why he took up with that punk Javon.”

  “Not a fan, huh?” Riley asks.

  Mr. Boyce leans forward in his seat. “Ha! Is a cat a fan of baths?” He starts stabbing at the air with his finger. Now we really got him going. “As soon as Javon entered the picture, Kenny’s been up under his thumb. Stopped caring about school as much. His grades started slipping—and his coach wasn’t having that. So as soon as Kenny lost basketball, guess he figured he didn’t need school anymore. Just stopped showing up.”

  I stare down at my tea. It’s like he’s singing the opening chords to Nic’s song. If I can find her, maybe she can have a different outro.

  “But I can’t blame Kenny entirely. Doug probably has something to do with it, too.”

  “Doug, sir?” I ask.

  Mr. Boyce rolls his eyes. “My knuckleheaded nephew. Out there pushing things he shouldn’t be pushing. He even got busted a few times, but Kenny doesn’t care. All he sees is his cousin living in some fancy condo in Richmond. Driving around in a Bentley or whatever’s popular these days.” He reaches out and adjusts the framed picture of Kenny on the coffee table. His hand lingers on the top before pulling it away.

  “If only we could all stay that size, right?” Riley says.

  Mr. Boyce gives her a soft smile. “He’s a good boy. He really is. I know that he thinks he’s doing the family good, especially with me being laid off and all. But I keep trying to tell him there’s a better way.” There’s a thud in the back of the apartment. Like Mrs. Boyce closes a drawer or a closet door. Mr. Boyce leans over to me and Riley. “Could y’all do me a favor?” he asks in a hushed voice. “Can you tell the missus something good about Kenny’s job interview? She just worries so much about that boy. I’d like to put her mind at ease some kind of way.”

  My heart sinks for them. They really had no clue that Kenny’s been gone for a week. Apparently, he does the disappearing act even more than Nic. Mr. Boyce still has hope, even when he erased any lingering bits of mine.

  Riley smiles and nods at him just as Mrs. Boyce returns to the living room, empty-handed. “I couldn’t find it anywhere,” Mrs. Boyce says, somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You need us to reimburse you?”

  I shake my head. “That’s not a big deal. I could pick up another one. I think Roses has a sale.”

  “Besides,” Riley adds, “Kenny probably needs to keep that shirt anyway.” She turns to me. “Didn’t you say he nailed that job interview?”

  I look over at Mr. Boyce who raises his eyebrows, hopeful. “Yeah,” I say. “He did. I’ll let him hold on to it until he gets his first paycheck or whatever.”

  Mrs. Boyce clasps her hands and rests them against her chin. She gives a silent prayer before beaming at me and Riley. “God is good,” she says.

  Her words follow me as Riley and I thank the Boyces for their hospitality and head out the front door. God is good? Not sure if I can agree after this week. Hell, after the past few years. I’m still waiting for the silver lining after all the challenges He’s thrown at me.

  But the Boyces still have hope. Faith that Kenny can be that little boy in the frame on their coffee table again. I saw it in the way Mr. Boyce’s hand lingered on Kenny’s picture. Saw it in the way Mrs. Boyce’s eyes lit up when I dished her the possibility of Kenny having a legit gig. If I told them Kenny’s been missing, that hope might wither and send them to the hospital just like MiMi. And what would going to the cops do for them? We have nothing to go on that something’s even wrong with Kenny, so they’d just hit a roadblock in the form of another Officer Rick Ross. Best I keep them in the dark until something else sheds more light on all of this.

  “Good work, Jay,” Riley says, smiling and poking me in the arm.

  I smirk at her. “Good work?” I ask. Way to patronize me. Yeah, I’m glad that I could make Mrs. Boyce feel good for a few minutes, but what about me? I’m still as lost and clueless as I was a week ago.

  “Wait, you don’t get it, huh?” Riley pulls a wrapper out of her purse. The same wrapper she found in Nic’s bedroom a few days ago.

  “Ugh, you actually kept that?” I ask.

  “So, I did some digging,” she says, completely ignoring my question. “Tried to figure out what stores use this kind of branding. I finally found a bakery that sells cake pops. K
ee Kee’s Goodies. They only have one location—in Richmond.”

  I shrug. “Yeah?”

  “And Kenny’s cousin lives in Richmond.”

  “Oookay,” I say. Riley grabs my arm and makes me stop walking.

  “Use that big brain of yours, Jay. Do you know any reason why Nic would go to Richmond?”

  I pause, think about it. “No,” I answer.

  “So, it’s mighty convenient that Nic just happens to have something from a bakery in Richmond. Right in the same city as someone Kenny’s tight with.”

  I shrug again. “Yeah, but Richmond’s a large city and . . .” And what? Nic doesn’t have a car. It’s not like she’s driving over an hour away just to buy a cake pop. If Kenny had a reason to be there, it could mean one of two things. First, he’s bringing back treats for Nic to try. Or two . . . “They ran off to Richmond together,” I say aloud, connecting the dots.

  Riley smiles at me again. “Just think about it, Jay. You’ve mentioned that Nic runs off from time to time. The Boyces said Kenny does the same thing. What better way to hide your trysts than to crash at your cousin’s condo in a large city like Richmond?”

  It sounds so weird hearing Riley actually say the words, but it makes sense. The last time anyone saw either of them was leaving the party together. And it seems like they’ve been doing a lot of leaving together before I even knew about it. All those times I figured Nic was off somewhere spinning on bliss, she was cozying it up with Kenny at this Doug guy’s place. Javon must have pissed her off for the last time for her not to find her way back home yet.

  “You’re a genius,” I tell Riley, then pull her toward me. I wrap my arms around her and give her a tight squeeze. Her ponytail tickles the tip of my nose and smells like baked goods. Something with honey in it. Riley smells like cake and honey. Wait, I’m smelling Riley Parker. And I’m so busy smelling Riley Parker that I don’t even realize that her arms are wrapped around me, too.

  I clear my throat and pull away. Riley pulls at her sleeves and stares down at her Converses. “Good work, Detective,” she says to me.

  “Right back at you,” I say. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

  Riley nods and pulls out her phone to order another Uber. I crack my knuckles and stare at the lettering of the Heritage Hint Apartments sign. Anything to avoid eye contact with her. But still, the lingering scent of honey tickles my nose.

  Twelve

  I FINALLY FOUND THAT SILVER LINING. RILEY AND I WERE able to get the address to Kenny’s cousin’s condo from Mr. Boyce. The Boyces had figured that’s where Kenny was lying low—he tended to do that from time to time when he wanted to feel like a man and get from up under his parents’ thumbs. I spat Mr. Boyce a few lines about heading to Richmond anyways, and maybe I could reach out to Kenny and tell him to check in on his mom. I guess it wasn’t a complete lie. Whatever it was, it was convincing enough for Mr. Boyce to give me the intel. Riley was going to see if she could borrow her parents’ car for our road trip.

  Can you even drive, I text to Riley the next day.

  I spot an empty staircase in one of the school halls. Plop down on one of the stairs to scarf down my chicken nuggets, my first meal of the day. Figured it would be best to avoid the cafeteria after the whole Bowie-Meek kinda, sorta smackdown. I couldn’t stand to see Meek gloat in my face, and Bowie? I figure the more I stay away from him, the more likely I won’t mix him up in all this Ducts drama. It’s bad enough I have Riley walking around here like Veronica Mars—I can’t have someone else I care about potentially getting into this mess.

  Wait, does this mean that I care about Riley? Thankfully, my phone buzzes before I can even consider an answer.

  Riley: Does it matter? You need a ride, right?

  Me: Yeah . . . kinda want to get there in one piece, tho.

  Riley: Wait a minute . . . you DON’T want to die? Let’s call this whole thing off then.

  I laugh. I actually laugh. Who knew Riley could make a comment about death that almost makes me snort aloud like her. And the laugh feels good—not strained like the one I had to force yesterday for the Boyces. I think about a clever rebuttal for her, something to send her snorting in the middle of lunch or class or wherever she might be at the moment. I wonder what her schedule’s like, anyways. Not like we ever talked about it during Sunday school. Not like I gave us many opportunities to talk about anything during Sunday school. Maybe when we find Nic and the dust clears, I could ask her that question. I could find out what she wants to do when she graduates Warwick. But that’s in the future, and this is now. Now, I need to text something back to make her laugh.

  My thumb hovers above my keyboard just as a pair of legs casts a shadow over my phone. I peek up and I see Camila standing over me. Hip cocked to one side along with her mouth. Hands folded tightly across her chest. She stares down at me like she can’t decide where she wants to hit me first, but rest assured, she definitely looks ready to strike. I quickly shove my phone inside my pocket.

  “Hey . . . ’sup, Mila?” I ask. I push out a smile to show her I missed her, but my cheeks feel heavy. Smiling at her always came as easy as chowing down on MiMi’s homemade lasagna, but now it seems like my muscles have to put in extra work. The hell’s that about? Then it hits me: Camila and I haven’t talked, like talked talked, since forever. No late-night phone calls. No morning texts. Yeah, we had first period together, but spent that hour doing this awkward dance of who’s breaking the ice first. We both felt a wall but didn’t know how to tear it down. Hell, did we even want to? But now that I’m really seeing her for the first time in like a week, I stare at her hair tucked behind her ears and try to remember if she got it cut recently.

  “’Sup, Mila? That’s it?” I didn’t even recognize her friend, Pilar, behind her. Apparently, she’s Camila’s hype woman. She never quite understood what Camila saw in me in the first place. She’s quick to cut me with her eyes and reminds Camila of all the reasons she’s better off without me.

  “And what’s up to you, too, Pilar,” I say, giving her a curt smile. I turn back to Camila. “I was going to call you later,” I lie.

  Camila knows it. She gives me an eye roll that’s worthy of applause. “And when were you going to do that, Jay? When you were writing papers for the football team?”

  “Mila.” I raise my eyebrows at her then shift my eyes to Pilar, reminding her we’re in mixed company.

  “. . . or when you were hanging out with that nerdy girl,” Camila continues, not even catching my hint.

  I pause. “What nerdy girl?”

  Pilar scoffs and throws her hands up, annoyed.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Camila asks, irritation piquing because of Pilar’s actions. “I know you’ve been kicking it with that girl from your church.”

  Riley. How did she find out about Riley? On cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Riley’s probably still being clever. My hand itches to see what she says next but I’m sure that Mila’s hand is itching to clock me upside the head if I even dare respond right now.

  “Pilar’s brother saw you and her at Heritage Hint yesterday,” Camila explains, answering the question written all over my face. “What the hell was that about?”

  I open my mouth to answer but the words get stuck. That’s probably a good thing since they’d be paired with exclamation marks. Camila was grouping me in with all these other high school dudes that hook up with the whole female population. I never really had a girlfriend but knew that wasn’t my style. I saw how happy one woman made my dad and that’s what I wanted. One girl to share inside jokes with and to sit next to without having to say anything because our energy said it all. But happiness certainly wasn’t being accused of doing something I didn’t do.

  “And don’t even lie, Jay,” Pilar adds. “Victor knows it was you. You were wearing that dusty hoodie you wear even when it’s a thousand degrees out. And he says you were with some chick wearing some doofy Converses.”

  “You told me that annoying gi
rl from your church has like a thousand pair of Converses,” Camila says.

  “Why you talking to Mila about another girl, huh?” Pilar this time. My eyes zigzag, zigzag, trying to keep up with the conversation.

  “Well?” Camila shifts her weight to the other side. I almost expect her to tap her foot, but she’s not stereotypical like that. Instead, her nostrils flare in and out, in and out, like she’s trying to keep herself from crying. I noticed that when we watched The Lion King remake together, right after Simba’s dad croaked. “I got popcorn butter in my eye,” she insisted.

  My whole body sighs. Seeing this girl cry would melt me to the floor right now. I can’t handle that on top of everything else. “Can we talk alone?” I ask Camila.

  “Why? You weren’t alone at Heritage Hint,” Pilar snaps.

  I plead to Mila with my eyes. Her arms loosen just slightly across her chest.

  “I got this, Pilar,” she mumbles.

  “You sure?”

  Camila’s silence is all the response she needs. Pilar pokes her lips out at me, then squeezes Camila’s shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

  “It’s not what you think,” I say as soon as Pilar’s completely out of sight.

  “Don’t tell me what I think, Jay,” Camila says. “You wouldn’t know, anyway, since you’ve been a ghost lately.”

  Fair enough. I’ve been a jackass to her. I’ve been a jackass to a lot of people lately, but I was trying to make up for it. Funny how when you try to right the wrongs you add a couple of more wrongs along the way.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I am. I just have a lot going on right now with MiMi and . . .” I almost let Nic slip. “And . . . work,” I try again. “I listened to your concerns about the paper stuff, so I got a legit gig. I come home every night smelling like ground beef and taco seasoning, but at least I won’t get expelled for that, right?” I try another smile with Camila. She does not return it.