Your POV

I sat beside Craig at the party, trying not to frown in disapproval each time he took a swig of beer from his red Solo cup. Across the room, our friend, Chresanto, flirted with some chic while balancing a blunt between his fingers. The whole atmosphere of the party was too much.

“Craig,” I murmured, turning to face him. “Can we go?”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes still wandering around the room. “You wanna go outside?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. In all honestly, I was sick of hanging all these fake niggas. I wanted to just go home and watch a movie.

He lead me outside, his arm protectively wrapped around me.

“What made you decide to even go to this party?” I questioned, leaning into him. I knew that he didn’t party much. If anything, he preferred to smoke a blunt with his friends instead of smoking in crowded places.

He shrugged, a small smile forming on his lips. “It’s what everyone was doing. All the seniors were going to be here.” He shrugged again. “Besides, I wanted to hook up with you.”

He dropped his hands to my waist, pulling my body close to his. His lips met with my cheek, and I sighed.

“OK, but we always do stuff at your house,” I pressured, poking him the chest. “You and all your other niggas are acting too damn grown.”

Craig lifted an eyebrow as though challenging me. “What’s wrong with that? I can love you like we’re grown,” he teased. Suddenly, he sobered his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I thought you liked your niggas mature?”


“I do,” I sighed, “but I don’t like ‘em actin’ all grown when they ain’t. We can chill and stuff without all that.”

Song: Like We Grown by Trevor Jackson