Roman POV
"Yo! Mamá Marianna! Miles! My man Rome! What's up with all these gloomy expressions? Almost like y'all just got back from a funeral or somethin'!" a cheeky voice says, laughing as its owner slides into the passenger seat.
Miles and I wince simultaneously.
We did see a funeral, actually...
Unfortunately, it was ours.
As my childhood friend and partner in crime since kindergarten, Jerome McCarthy, aka JMac, gets in, I shake my head.
JMac's taller than me, but he's so skinny he looks like a toothpick.
Long, lanky limbs, hawkish features, and long dreads. He's the clumsiest person I've ever known... except on the basketball court.
He could trip over his own shadow just walking out of the locker room, but with that ball in his hands, he's unstoppable. Truly a weird dude.
Anyway...
I'm about to answer when a sharp smack echoes through the car.
"Dude! Read the room!" a girl's voice snaps, smacking her brother on the back of the head before sliding casually in between Miles and me.
Her beautiful hair brushes the car's ceiling as she sits.
She's Tamara, my real best friend and JMac's twin sister.
She hoops for the girls' squad at our middle school, Junior Brooklyn Visions Academy.
She's just as popular as I am, though we're together practically 24/7.
Damn, she fine as hell, can't even front, I think, sneaking a side glance.
But my moms is dead set on not letting me date until I turn fourteen.
After today though… it's probably bumped up to seventeen.
Dammit.
Anyway, I'm thinking hard when Tamara's smart-ass voice cuts through.
"Good morning, Mrs. Reyes. I'd say sorry for my idiotic brother, but I'll probably have to say it again in five minutes."
My mom laughs, and I'm reminded, again, how much she adores Tamara.
Honestly, I'm starting to think she's plotting to marry me off to her or some shit. She talks about Tamara like she's the Virgin Mary.
Don't get me wrong, I love Tamara. As a friend, confidante, and maybe, possibly, as my main someday.
But my mom glazes her more than a coked-up Krispy Kreme employee going through withdrawals.
Stuff like, "Study harder! Tamara just got an A in biology and dropped thirty on Newark Grind for the AAU trophy right after!"
Or—
"You guys make sure Tamara's with you when you head to the Coney, you hear me, mi hijo?"
And—
"¡Dios mío, Romano! Why is Tamara in here cleaning your room?!"
So yeah… it's kinda wild that my own moms loves my best friend more than me. But it evens out, 'cause the reverse is true.
Mrs. McCarthy absolutely spoils me. And better yet? She's a 10/10 MILF, better curves than a NASCAR track, on god!
Anyway, as Tamara slides in next to me, I'm immediately hit with the impossibly addicting scent of her pheromones.
Might sound creepy, but with my Kryptonian physique and senses, I can smell things from halfway across the planet, including everyone's unique pheromonal chemical makeup.
Think of it like a fingerprint that you can smell, everyone's is different.
Girls usually smell about 90% like their moms, the other 10% like their dad's best traits. Guys vary way more, no fixed pattern.
Point is… she smells nice. Real nice.
As Tamara settles in, she shoots me a pitiful glance and shakes her head with a sigh.
"What did you do this time, Roman? And you, Miles?" she asks.
"We—" I start, only to be cut off.
"They were gonna sneak outta Manhattan to go on a date with some chicas blancas! Can you believe it?!" my mom growls, glaring at us like she's ready to kill.
"Yo! So you really was finna get it on with Brandi and McKenna? Everyone was talking, but I ain't believe it! Ha! My nigga!You know McKenna got that Boo-tay, am I right? And Brandi top notch too! Specially dem boinkers!"
SCREEEEEEEECHHHHH!
My mom swerves the car to the shoulder, slamming the brakes before whipping around to face us.
Miles and I freeze, mortified. Biggest snitch since 6ix9ine, right here in my passenger seat.
You idiot! Why the fuck you ratting on gang?! I think, cursing JMac's big mouth.
Miles looks like he's gonna pass out, while Tamara's rubbing her temples at her slightly autistic (not really) twin.
She might be a role model at school, but she's down with gang for real.
Damn. That nigga just sold us out—and he doesn't even realize it. His points per game might be up, but goddamn his syndrome down…
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THANKS TO ALL MY READERS AND SUPPORTERS.
I'M STILL GOING FOR 10 CHAPTERS BY SATURDAY.
SORRY ABOUT YESTERDAY, I WAS TOO LAZY TOO WRITE, CAN'T EVEN FRONT.
I'M SICK WITH ALLERGIES TODAY, SO THIS CHAPTER IS A SLICE OF LIFE FILLER.
THE STORY WILL START PICKING UP SOON, I PROMISE.
ANYWAYS, I STARTED USING AI FOR EDITING STARTING THIS CHAPTER, SO PLEASE TELL ME IF ITS BAD. (IN THE COMMENTS)
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