ainât never even been across the bridge. Itâs just one of those things.
There were shops everywhere, and I looked around for the knitting store while Noodles looked around for girls.
âHey, Miss Yellow Shirt, I like them legs,â he said. Then, when Miss Yellow Shirt looked at him sideways, he said, âYou ainât even that pretty.â Then he turned to me and said, âYo, ainât no black chicks down here?â
To tell the truth, I was feeling kinda nervous about being in that neighborhood, and was more wanting to find the store than try to bag girls. After checking all four corners at Atlantic and Court Street, I finally had to break down and ask someone where the store was. I scanned the people waiting on the corner for the light to change when I saw an older woman who had that knitter look to her. And I was right.
âExcuse me, Miss, but do you know where a knitting store is around here?â I asked as politely as possible.
âOh, Knit Wit, itâs right over there. In the middle of the block,â the older woman said. She pointed and smiled, and I just smiled back, a little embarrassed.
âNot for us,â Noodles chimed in. âFor my brother.â
We walked down Court until we got to a door with a wooden sign with KNIT WIT painted on it. The words looked like yarn, which was kind of cool and kind of corny at the same time. It was obvious this was a place for old ladies.
The door opened, and we were greeted by a cat. Thatâs not weird for stores in New York, but it just didnât seem like a good idea to have a cat hanging out in a yarn store. One bad day, and that cat could go bananas and shred the whole place. The fluffy kitty rubbed up against Noodlesâs leg, and Noodles halfway kicked it. He screwed up his face to purposely make himself look tough, like we had come to rob the place. Butwe didnât. At least I didnât. Just came to get some yarn. Black boys, looking for black yarn. Thatâs it.
âHello, boys,â the lady at the register said. She didnât really have that knitter look the old lady who I spoke to outside had, but then again, neither does my mother. She had on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee. She also wore those hippie sandals that white people wear. My mother calls them Jesus sandals. Jazz calls them water walkers.
âHello, how you doing?â I asked, trying to be mature and comfortable.
âIâm well, thank you. And yourself?â
I like when people say âwellâ instead of âgood.â Always sounds smarter. But I usually say âgood.â It just feels better coming out.
âGood, good,â I said. I could feel things about to get awkward.
âSo . . . what brings you in?â
âOur feet,â Noodles said, just loud enough for her to hear. I nudged him.
âOh, nothing much. Just looking for yarn,â I said.
Hippie girl smiled.
âOf course you are.â She held her arms out like she was saying, Duh, thereâs yarn everywhere , dummy. Itâs a yarn store.
âYeah, but specifically, black yarn,â I explained.
âYou know what weight?â
âWeâll just look around,â Noodles snapped. It came off pretty rude.
I forced an uncomfortable grin as we turned away andstarted walking toward the black yarn. The store was organized by color, so it was easy to see exactly where we needed to be.
âWhy you being so mean, man? Lady was just doing her job,â I asked Noodles while squeezing different yarns like they were cantaloupes in the grocery store. I didnât even know yarn had so many different feels. Weird.
âMan, who cares about her? Just trying to cuff one and bounce,â Noodles said. âBut we gotta get the right kind for Needles.â
Again, I didnât say anything. I thought it was funny how even though he didnât want to be in the store looking for yarn because