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shades—“Scar, you my nigga, but you know I ain’t messing with you like that.”
    “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
    “Nothing, it just means that I ain’t really got time for the bullshit you’re putting down. Me and you live two different lifestyles.”
    “Oh, so now you acting all high off ya shit cuz you shining a little bit? I guess you too good to fuck with the hood niggaz anymore?” Scar asked defensively.
    “Never that, you know my family is filled with some of the illest cats this project or any other has yet to produce. What I’m saying is that you still running around trying to game bitches outta their drawers with a bag of piff and a movie and that ain’t me, duke.”
    “There you go with that bullshit.” Scar sucked his teeth.
    “No, there you go with that bullshit. Scar, you shit where you live so your dirt is out there for everyone to see. Why do you think that ain’t nobody in the hood fucking wit you but them young bitches?”
    “Jada, you know how the streets talk.”
    “Nah, I know how you move. Scar, me and you are peoples, but it ain’t gonna never be much more than that,” she told him just asthe elevator finally reached the first floor. Jada stepped into the car without as much as a good-bye.
    “Well, fuck you too then, bitch,” Scar said after the elevator door had closed.
    “Damn, I would love to have her work my dick like she be working them lollipops,” Lloyd said.
    “Jada ain’t trying to fuck with you, nigga. You’re a scumbag,” Scar told him.
    “Well, she ain’t fucking with you either, so that makes
us
scumbags. And if Cutty ever caught wind that we was sniffing around his baby mama he might not appreciate it.”
    Scar looked at Lloyd like he was stupid. “Nigga, is you crazy? They gave Cutty the long walk. That fast bitch Jada ain’t fit to be no prisoner’s wife. If it ain’t my cock that tames her, it’ll be some other nigga that’s out here getting it. Wit a bitch like Jada, you can fuck her six ways to Saturday, but if you ain’t handling it ain’t gonna get you no closer to your heat, because she ain’t got one.” Scar pushed past Lloyd and walked back outside. When he reemerged from the building Sahara and Boots were still sitting on the bench. He looked at the girls who were staring at him in anticipation and figured something was better than nothing. “What up, y’all trying to get high?”

Chapter 4
    By the time Jada made it to her door she was tired, irritated, and starting to get musty. All she wanted to do was take a shower and crawl into her bed. She had longed for the peace and quiet of her bedroom for the last fifteen hours, and when she opened her front door she sighed heavily because she knew she wasn’t going to get it there. The sounds of Lil Wayne’s “Mr. Carter” blaring from the stereo speakers battled with the television, which was also turned all the way up, and tuned to The Steve Wilkos Show. Clothes were hanging on lines of rope that crisscrossed the living room, drying in the intense
project heat
coming from the pipes. Weeks-old newspapers were stacked on the coffee table and chairs, while toys littered the chipped tiled floors. In the center of all the craziness, ironing a dollar bill on a towel was the patriarch of the family, Patricia Butler.
    “Hey, Grandma.” Jada threw her purse on the plastic-covered couch.
    “Umm hmm,” Ms. Pat mumbled and continued her ironing. The smoke from the Kool cigarette dangling from her mouth wafted up over her glasses and over her stocking cap-covered head.
    “What are you doing?” Jada asked, looking at the rows of pressed dollars.
    “That lil Charlie done let me wash his pants without making sure he emptied his pockets first. Now I got to press all these damn singles ’cause you know I ain’t wasting no change round here.” She flapped the dollar in one of her meaty palms to sort out the wrinkles before placing another wet one on the towel to be ironed.