“What, you don’t want to be seen with me or something?” she asked, frowning.
Zyir looked at her. “Breeze? Is that your name?” She nodded.
“Breeze, I talk. I just don’t like to talk when there ain’t nothing to talk about. I don’t talk about shopping or gossip or gay shit like that. My conversations revolve around one thing.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”
“Money.”
“Money ain’t everything.”
“What you know about getting money, girl? You’ve been spoonfed your whole life.” Zyir wasn’t trying to be rude, but he wasn’t one to hold his tongue.
“So what? You judging me? Yeah, I grew up with money, but don’t act like you’re the only one who’s struggled. My father died trying to give me the best of everything, so you damn right, I’m gon’ take advantage of everything that he left me. Ain’t that what you trying to do? Provide for your family? Or are you only worried about pushing new whips and bullshit like that?”
“I’m just doing me, shorty, that’s it. I don’t got no kids to think about, and bitches ain’t worth the headache. So, right now, I’m about stacking my chips, nah mean?”
When she didn’t reply, he answered for her, “Nah, you don’t know what I mean.”
“Why are you so rude? Is that how you niggas in Flint get down? You act just like Carter.”
“Carter basically raised me. He’s the only father figure I know. I met him four years ago when I was only fourteen. He took me in and taught me everything I know. And I’m not trying to be rude, ma, so if I offended you, I apologize. You’re just a little spoiled, that’s all.”
“You don’t even know me.” Breeze couldn’t believe his nerve. No one had ever talked to her that way. Most were afraid to overstep their boundaries because of her affiliation with The Cartel, but Zyir didn’t care. He said what he wanted to say, and she found it attractive.
“I don’t have to know you. I know your type.”
“So what? Because you came from the bottom, you hate everybody that’s at the top? I guess you like them ol’ raggedy Reebok-wearing bitches, huh? If a chick ain’t from the ghetto, then you ain’t interested.”
“I like smart chicks. It doesn’t matter where they’re from.” Zyir turned to face her.
“And I’m not that?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. I mean, I’ll admit I don’t really know you, but it seems to me that you are a little naïve, self-centered.” Zyir smiled. He could see that his words were bothering her. He had to admit, she was a gorgeous young woman, but her head wasn’t in the right place.
“Self-centered?” Breeze repeated, her face frowned in disagreement.
“Check it, ma-After everything your family has been through, you out here trying to throw parties and shit. Trying to keep up your perception and be the center of attention while mu’fuckas is running up in your people’s funerals and killing the ones you love. You’re in the middle of a war and you making yourself accessible. You’re the type of target a nigga would love to touch. If I was working for the other side, you would be the first one I would gun for. You’re easy to get to.” Zyir looked toward her and noticed the solemn expression that crossed her face. The girl was fighting back tears, and he instantly regretted bringing up the death of her loved ones. “Yo, ma, I’m sorry-”
“You know what? Just don’t say shit to me. I get it. You think I’m stupid and spoiled, so there ain’t no need for us to be social, but don’t ever say anything about my family. You just got here. You don’t know us. Just do your job and be my fucking bulletproof. That’s what being a rich, spoiled, dumb little bitch gets you-a mu’fucka like you to take bullets for me,” she said arrogantly.
Breeze pulled in front of the event planner’s office and slammed her door as she got out of the car. She stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and thought about what Zyir had said to her. She couldn’t help it that she was spoiled. Her father had always provided for her, but she had never been called selfish before. Zyir’s words had been like a mirror that showed Breeze her true reflection. She was her family’s weak spot, and it hurt.
“Damn it!” she yelled as she kept walking past the party planning spot and onto the sandy beach across the street.
Zyir watched her from the car and put his hand over his face when he saw her storm off. “Fuck, man! I should’ve just shut the fuck up. All this dramatic shit ain’t for the kid,” he mumbled to himself. He reluctantly climbed out of the car and walked down the street behind her. “Getting my mu’fuckin’ kicks dirty and shit,” he complained as he walked through the sand near the edge of the water in his crispy white Force One’s.
He walked up behind her. “Breeze.”
“You’re right,” she said.
“Nah, ma, I was out of line. You’re right. I haven’t been here. I don’t know shit, just forget about it, a’ight,” he said attempting to make her feel better. He wasn’t used to being sentimental, and he had never apologized for anything in his life, so he felt awkward changing his persona for her.
“I remember my father used to bring me here when I was little. We would come to the beach, and he would let me run around all day. I would shop up and down these boulevards for hours. I was the only little girl rocking Chanel and Ferragamo.” She laughed at the distant memory and then looked Zyir in his eyes. “You see, I’ve always had everything I’ve ever wanted, ever since I can remember. Every year he threw a white party for all of our friends and family. Everybody came out to show The Cartel love. I miss him so much. I just want things to be how they were before all this happened. They are taking everything from me. My father, Money, Mecca’s half-crazy. All I have left are my memories and the money that my father left me. I’m not trying to put my family in jeopardy, but I don’t want to stop living my life while I wait around to die. Eventually they are going to get me too,” Breeze whispered, as tears burned her eyes.
“No, they not, ma,” Zyir said confidently. Seeing her so weak hit a soft spot with him.
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m your bulletproof, remember?” He nudged her shoulder gently, trying to make her smile.
She wiped her face and smirked slightly. “Sorry about that comment.”
“It’s nothing, shorty, but for real, if you want to make it through this war, you got to be just as smart as the mu'-fuckas gunnin’ for you. Don’t be the weak link, ma. If you wanna go somewhere, all you got to do is call. I’ll take you, ‘cuz, believe me, a nigga ain’t murking me.”
“Thank you, Zyir,” she said graciously as her curly hair blew with the ocean-misted wind.
“You’re welcome, beautiful.”
“Oh, so you think I’m beautiful?” Breeze grinned as she put her sunglasses back over her eyes.
Zyir shook his head and grabbed her hand to lead her back to the car. “You still trying to throw this party, or you gon’ be smart and play it safe?”
“I trust you. I don’t want to put my family in danger.”
“Well, let me put you up on some new shit, something that will occupy your time.” He hopped into the passenger seat and said, “Take me to the nearest bookstore.”
Breeze and Zyir spent the entire day together. He took her to Borders and introduced her to reading, which was a pastime that she never had.
The most that Breeze ever did was flip through the pages of fashion magazines, but Zyir spoke about African American literature as if she were missing out on something. His obvious passion for reading was intriguing. He piqued her interest as he spoke fervently about authors such as James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, and Alice Walker. He even put her up on street fiction, starting her out on Donald Goines and then suggesting street writers like Ashley JaQuavis, Keisha Ervin, and Sister Souljah. Breeze had never met anyone like Zyir. He was intelligent, honest, and most importantly, she felt safe when they were together. She trusted him with her life, and she had just met him.