Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0 )

by Angie Thomas

When it comes to the streets, there’s rules. They ain’t written down, and you won’t find them in a book. It’s natural stuff you know the moment your momma let you out the house. Kinda like how you know how to breathe without somebody telling you. If there was a book though, there would be a whole section on streetball, and the most important rule would be at the top, in big bold letters: Don’t get your ass beat in front of a fine girl, especially if she your girl.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks. I scratch my cornrows. “I hear you.” “I said are you listening? There’s a difference.”

Living your life based off what other people think—” “Ain’t living at all,” I finish.

“Give him a name that tells him who he is and who he can be. The world’s gon’ try to do that enough.”

I’m tired of hearing ’bout all these fucked-up white people who did fucked-up stuff, yet people wanna call them heroes.

When it comes to making money in this drug shit, rich white kids are where it’s at.

Roses, they’re fascinating li’l things. Can handle more than folks think. I’ve had roses in full bloom during an ice storm. They could easily survive without any help. We want them to thrive. We’ll have to prune them, things like that.”

“You gotta love people enough to let them go, especially when you’re the reason they’re gone.”

Pops told me the other day that grief something we all gotta carry. I never understood that till now. Feel like I got a boulder on my back. It weigh down my whole body, and I be wanting to cry out to make the pain go away.

“Son, one of the biggest lies ever told is that Black men don’t feel emotions. Guess it’s easier to not see us as human when you think we’re heartless. Fact of the matter is, we feel things. Hurt, pain, sadness, all of it. We got a right to show them feelings as much as anybody else.”

His parents cried on TV, and I realized he had parents. Like Dre. Some kids at school were really tore up over his death, and I realized he had friends. Like Dre. At the stadium, he got a memorial in the parking lot with flowers and balloons. Like Dre. Everybody get mourned by somebody, I guess. Even murderers.

Seven and work keep me busy, and school be the best place to take a nap.

I’m starting to think being a parent mean you don’t get to have much yourself. All my energy, my money, and my time go to him.

Mr. Wyatt pinch the space between his eyes. “Son. Please tell me these are not for you.” I stare at the floor. “They not. They for a friend.” “Look at me and say it.” I can’t. I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror right now and say it. “Good God, boy. When the Lord said replenish the earth, he didn’t expect you to do it yourself. Do you know how to use a condom?”

She act like if she say something, it’s settled. No question. She say her life ain’t over, then her life ain’t over.

Lisa watch her feet swing. “They wanted to discuss my salvation. Told me that I committed a sin by having premarital sex and by breaking my purity pledge. They said I must seek forgiveness, and if I have an abortion, I’ll get eternal damnation.” What the hell? There’s a whole lot I don’t know when it comes to God, but that sound like some bull. “You believe that?” “I believe God is way more merciful than they are,” Lisa says.

It’s one of them cold February days where the sun so bright it almost fool you into thinking you don’t need a coat.

Mr. Wyatt says grief hit you in waves. Sometimes it pull me out to sea and take me under. No wonder it’s hard to breathe as I cry.

“Son, that’s a to-do list. I’m talking about real accomplishments. What do you wanna do with your life?” I look at him. Nobody ever asked me that.

But at some point, I stopped imagining myself being any of that. Ain’t no astronauts, doctors, or veterinarians around here. Everybody I know just tryna survive, and that’s all I wanna do.

Don’t let the cuteness fool you. Babies straight-up thugs. They don’t give a damn what you going through.

Even killers can get their prayers answered.

It trip me out that she can say that after what I almost did tonight. It’s like Lisa see this version of me that nobody else do. This Maverick who ain’t worried ’bout the set or the streets, and who do something worthwhile with his life. I wanna be that dude. Not the one sitting in a prison, telling my kids that I got regrets.

I guess it’s like Mr. Wyatt says. The apple don’t fall far from the tree, but it can roll away from it. It simply need a little push.

“Dawg, this a death wish,” I say. “I dare any of them to come after us.” Us. “Nah. Count me out,” I say. “Aw, hell! C’mon, Mav! We can pull this off!” King says. “It would take a little time, but a year from now, we’d run the whole Garden just like our daddies. Li’l Zeke and Li’l Don, doing the damn thing.” Yeah, and Big Zeke in a grave with his wife while Big Don in a prison. I shake my head. “I’m done selling drugs. For good this time.”

I don’t know the person staring at me. It damn sure ain’t my best friend.

when God made that sh—stuff, I gotta stop cussing so much—when he made that stuff, he didn’t put them in garden plots. He put them out in the wild or whatever and gave them everything they needed to survive.

He check out the roses himself. “Looks like you’re right. These canes need to be snipped.” “Because they won’t help them grow, right?” “Mmm-hmm. It’s kinda like how we have to do with ourselves. Get rid of things that don’t do us any good. If it won’t help the rose grow, you’ve gotta let it go.

“Fast money lead to a fast end.”

“On some real shit, son? There’s a lot of grown men in the game who don’t wanna be in it. They don’t have the guts to admit it like you do. They too caught up or too scared of what people will think. They end up accepting that they stuck.”

She showed me a picture of her sons and proudly told me she named them Dalvin and DeVante after the dudes in Jodeci. I looked at her funny. I can’t talk though. I named my son after a number.

maybe it’s time I start surprising myself.