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I’m sixteen.”
    “How come?”
    “I dunno. They treat me like I’m still a little kid. Like I don’t have good sense. Like they’re afraid something bad’s gonna happen. This summer I want to get a job, but they’re sending me to some SAT summer camp.”
    “I’m sad for you, girlfriend. Real sad,” Emako said, “but they seem kinda nice . . . your mama and daddy.”
    “I never said they weren’t nice, but I still can’t wait to get away from ’em.”

Jamal
    I had been trying to get tight with Emako, calling her almost every night, but she was always talking about the friendship thing. All I kept thinking was that I didn’t need any more friends, at least not friends who looked like her.
    It was a Saturday night, a couple of weeks before Christmas. I had picked up Emako after she got off work and we were riding, just riding through L.A., and somehow we found ourselves in Beverly Hills.
    “Beverly Hills sure knows how to do Christmas,” Emako said as we drove.
    “Wanna walk around? We could stroll down Rodeo Drive, scare the white people.” I laughed like the devil.
    She tugged at her Burger King uniform and gave me a look as if to say, Dressed like this?
    “Ain’t nuthin’, just Beverly Hills,” I said, and parked.
    We got out of the car and walked along the crowded sidewalks toward Rodeo, two dark faces in a sea of white.
    “I got a question,” I said.
    “What?”
    “Why in the hood do they say Ro deo like the rodeo where they ride wild horses, and in Beverly Hills they say Ro- day -o like it’s a different country or something? I mean, what’s up with that?”
    “You crazy, Jamal.”
    We stopped in front of a jewelry store where the diamonds glistened like ice under the lights, and I took her small hand and held it. I said to myself, I think I’m in love.
    “You gonna buy me some ice, Jamal?” Emako asked.
    “It could be like that one day. After I start producin’ my music and all that.” I gazed deep into her brown eyes. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” I said, pulling her toward the front door.
    She let go of my hand. “I’m not goin’ in there and have them lookin’ at me like I don’t b’long. Which I don’t. Why you gotta mess with me?”
    “I’m not messin’ with you. I just wanted to give ’em something to talk about when they go home tonight and turn on Jay Leno. ”
    The security guard had come to the door and he was hovering.
    “See. That’s how it is. Soon as they see a black face, security is all up on us. Like I’m Bonnie and you’re Clyde.” Emako shook her head. “Let’s go.”
    We went back to the car, but before we got in, I pulled her to me and kissed her. I could taste her strawberry lip gloss. Her mouth was sweet and warm, just like I’d imagined.
    We got in my ride and took off. It started to rain and the streets were black and wet.
    “You know, there’s this girl named Gina,” I said.
    “I heard all about Gina,” she replied.
    “Savannah?” I asked.
    “Savannah,” she responded. “She said that you just tryin’ to be a player.”
    “I’m not tryin’ to be a player, I’m just tryin’ to be real with you.”
    “And what about Gina? You gonna rush home and call her on the phone and tell her all about me?”
    I was silent, caught in my own game.
    “Jamal? It’s just a kiss, nuthin’ but a kiss. I mean, if you gotta get into true confessions, then okay, but I’m not about that. What you think, one kiss makes me wanna have your baby? It don’t.”
    “Oh, it’s like that?”
    “Yeah, it’s like that,” Emako said, but I could tell she wasn’t mad.
    The windshield wipers scraped the windows back and forth like a metronome, and I remembered the born-again Christian piano teacher and the smell of soul food that always filled her house, and my mouth began to water.
    “You hungry?” I asked.
    “No. I’m tired. Just take me home.”
    “I wrote you some songs. Music and lyrics,” I said.
    “You wrote me some