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"You a cheaterrr!" British laughed a week later on FaceTime with Dayvon playing iMessage games. She liked talking to him more than she let on, it was like the same way she talked to Celeste except he was a boy.
Dayvon sucked his teeth from the FaceTime screen in the corner of her phone as she focused on sending the next game since he had beat her in pool. "How I cheat in pool? Yo ass jus' garbage, onbd!" He teased. British sucked her teeth sending him the game for darts. She was a beast in darts.
"I'm not garbage in darts though!" She finalized. "Watch how I eat that ass up though!"
Dayvon tilted his head back looking at her with a weary facial expression, "yo ass always talkin' some gay shit." Sucking his teeth. British laughed.
"You know I ain't mean it like that!" She said through a laugh. Harlem's figure running through the room and plopping on the new queen sized beauty rest mattress that had finally got shipped to her apartment this morning.
"Yea ight," Dayvon smiled seeing Harlem laying on her shoulder, "Harlemmmm! Wassup Lil Folks?"
"Hey big folks!" Harlem smiled lightly before looking up at his sister. "British, can I talk to you when you get off the phone?"
British kissed right in between his eyes, "how aboutttt, we talk right now?" she smiled at him gently before turning her attention back to the FaceTime call with Dayvon. "Lemme call you back later, Harlem wants to talk."
"Ight, call me back gang." He sternly added.
"I will," she drug out, "and play me in darts, lame."
"Yea, that's what you call me," he teased before ending the call making British suck her teeth. He was so lame for that.
"What's going on, baby?" She asked him gently, rubbing his freshly cut taper and retwisted dreads courtesy of her. Harlem sighed sitting up, fiddling with his fingers he looked at his older sisters confused expression.
"You rememba' when I told you that I didn't know who shot me?" He spoke quietly. British instantly sat up as well grabbing his hand for a sense of comfort for him. She didn't want him to feel nervous or pressured.
"Yes,"she said gently, looking at him skeptically.
"I do know," he barely said up above a whisper, "one of the boys I played at the YMCA with...he got mad, and he told his brother and when I was outside playin' I seen the both of them."
"Harlem! Why didn't you tell me any of this?" British raised her voice a little. Understandably upset, she was hella angry. What type of fucking goofy shoots a kid over a kiddy argument?
"Because we're not supposed to snitch rememba?" He asked quietly.
"Baby, that applies to when it has nothin' to do wit' you! Harlem, this has everything to do wit' you! You could've died!" British painfully explained to him. "What's his name?"
