1. BrooklynGoodbye
PROLOGUE
He was wrong about many things, my father. But
he was right about one; the worst thing to lose is your soul
mate. Some people meet by coincidence, some by fate.
When it’s fate, you’ll feel it, and nothing can keep you
apart. Not even a man-made tragedy.
1.
FATE

2. I woke up from a failed attempt of trying to pull an
all-nighter, to the sound of my father’s low-pitched,
powerful voice. I couldn’t decipher if he was yelling at me
or yelling to himself. He was always just as angry in either
case. I rolled over and covered my head with my black, silk
sheets that smelled like it’s been a while since Ma washed
them.
The heat blowing through the vent gave me fair
warning that spring hadn’t quite started yet, even though it
was the beginning of April. You’d think I’d be used to it,
but I dreaded dressing in layers and walking to school.
I heard fast-paced movement and heavy footsteps in
the hallway coming towards my direction. Pops. He’s the
only one I knew that had an immeasurable amount of
energy at seven in the morning. I heard him twist my knob
with so much unnecessary force that it instantly put me in a
bad mood.
“Zack, get up,” he commanded, his hard voice
penetrating my peacefulness.
“I’m already up,” I shot back from beneath the
covers.
“Well, get to moving. Ain’tcha got school?”
“Well, good morning to you, too, Pops.”

3. “Morning. And don’t be a smartass.”
“You want me to be a dumb ass?” I replied,
switching positions.
“Zackory,” he warned, his voice sterner.
I could feel his eyes piercing through my sheets as
the door squeaked while he slowly began to close it.
“And put a move on it. Your mother’s cooking
breakfast.”
“Yes, your majesty,” I sarcastically mumbled, my
face imprinted on the pillow.
“What?”
“I said okay.”
The door closed. I let out a long awaiting sigh as I
threw the covers from over me and looked at my clock; a
quarter past seven. That gave me forty-five minutes to eat
and do my homework before class started. The pale
darkness in my room let me know that it was overcast
outside and it’ll probably be like that for the remainder of
the day. New York can be so depressing during the cold
seasons. Whatever.
My feet felt good against the warm, old wooden
floors. I grabbed my black undershirt from the back of the
chair that sat at my desk, and slipped it on. Sleeping in

4. anything besides boxer briefs was almost impossible for
me.
The smell of bacon consumed my nose and my
stomach instantly grumbled. I jumped into my basketball
shorts and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth before
easing into the kitchen where Ma stood at the stove,
scrambling eggs around.
“Morning, Ma,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Morning, sweetie.”
She was a good woman, my mother. She didn’t
have a bad bone in her body, which can sometimes work
against her when it’s time to stick up for her self. But she
was sweet, nonetheless, and that accounted for something.
Ma’s side of the family had only been in the United States
for just one generation prior to her birth, so she still had
that European look to her. She stood about 5’4 with blue
eyes that have a green tint to them. I’ve never seen
anything like it. Her naturally blonde hair and slender build
was passed down from her mother’s side. Last I checked,
she was forty-one, but that changes almost every year, so
who knows?
I heard the front door close, with Pops yelling
“Goddamit” to himself shortly after.

5. “How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“Fine, until the Terminator woke me up.”
I grabbed a glass out the cabinet.
“Don’t talk bad about your father.”
“We have any orange juice?” I asked.
“Not sure. Check the fridge.”
Pops walked in, fully clothed in his uniform. Far
back as I could remember, he’s always gotten up at the
crack of dawn; doing anything he can to stay busy. I swear,
the term “give it a rest already” was created just for him.
He put his hand on Ma’s waist and kissed her on top of the
head.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning, Allan. Hungry?”
“Starving!” he exclaimed.
He released his hand from around her and took a
seat at the rounded glass table. His mood had since changed
since he burst into my room ten minutes ago. I swear that
has to be a chemical imbalance. He opened up his
newspaper and started on his daily rant about democrats
and other irrelevant news that served me no purpose in life.
“You know, this is gonna be a great four years with
George Bush in office.”

6. “Pops, not today, please.”
I, for one, didn’t care for what was happening in
Congress. I cut the TV on to drown him out.
“Allan, spare us just this once. Eat.” Ma placed our
plates in front of us.
“Can’t a man talk about matters of the world to his
own family, in his own home?”
“Allan, you’re an Army Colonel. You practically
eat, live, and breathe the government. Can you leave work
at work?”
He put the paper down and picked up his fork with
a deep sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Thank you,” Ma and I both said in unison.
His big eyes, with a hint of crow’s feet in the
corner, focused on his food and he remained quiet for a
moment. He stood about 6’0 even with a medium build of
two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Someone who didn’t
know any better could easily be afraid of his military
mentality and posture. There wasn’t a hair on his chiseled
face, but his head was full of wavy brown hair that he kept
extremely neat and slicked to the back. All of his constant
activeness kept him looking younger than he appeared.

7. Outside of uniform, he could easily be mistaken for a
model instead of a marine.
Ma joined us at the table after making herself a cup
of coffee from the same coffee pot she’s been using since I
was a kid. They’ve been together for a long time, my
parents; about twenty years. They’re really like night and
day and it baffles me how they’ve stuck it out so long.
Even split up a couple of times, but somehow always
managing to rekindle the flame. And wherever Ma went, I
went. There was no way in hell I was letting her leave me
with that man. Thank God it’s only one of me that has to
put up with his madness. He’s not a bad father. He’s really
not. He’s just stuck in his ways and what he says goes.
Period.
Breakfast was silent, as usual. The TV always saved
us from having to speak too much. Pops’ occasional
outbursts from the news reports were typical, followed by
Ma asking him if he wanted more to eat. It was so routine
… so annoying.
“Pops, you know prom is around the corner, right?”
“Is that so?”
“That’s so.”
“So what, you need money or something?”

8. “Yes,” I tried to happily force out. He always found
a way to make things more difficult than it needed to be.
“You know money doesn’t grow on trees, right,
son?”
“Allan, knock it off,” Ma intervened.
“Yes, Pops. I’ve known since you started telling me
when I was two. Jesus Christ.”
“What’s the matta? You don’t know how to kid
witcha old man no more?”
Another mood swing. I can’t keep up.
“Pops, it’s seven in the morning. I don’t know how
to do much of anything right now.” I pushed my eggs
around before they mixed with my grits. I hated for my
food to touch.
“How much we talking?”
“I’m not sure. I was going to Manhattan today after
school and Ma was gonna meet me there. It’s a couple of
spots on Fashion Ave. that I wanted to look at.”
“I’ll leave the money with your mother.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“Meet me there at 4:30, Zack. FOUR THIRTY,”
Ma said, with a “don’t keep me waiting” look.
“I hear ya, Ma.”

9. “You gotta get going. It’s 7:35 and you can’t afford
to have any more tardies,” she added, sipping from her cup
of coffee.
“I know,” I said as I stood up.
“He can’t afford? I can’t afford!” Pops added.
“Leave your plate,” Ma ordered, grabbing a piece of
my bacon.
“I still gotta finish my homework, too.”
“Really, Zack?” she scolded through her mouthful
of food.
I silently laughed to myself as I left the kitchen,
knowing it would cause a ruckus.
“Zackory, I’m not paying an arm and a leg at that
school for you to be fucking it off, you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” I sarcastically yelled from the
upstairs hallway. I never wanted to attend that stupid
private school, anyway. I’d much rather be in Brooklyn at
the performing arts school. But no, he’s such a control
freak that he’d rather pay for me to go to school for
something I don’t want to be, than to let me go to a public
school for something I would love to be. But I digress.
I threw on my uniform; a pair of gray slacks that
seemed like they were becoming too short for my 5’10

10. limbs, a white button down, and a blue striped tie. I slipped
into my blazer after I turned it inside out. The silky, red
inside was far more appealing to the eye than the cotton
exterior. It was totally against school dress code, but they’d
rather put up with my informal wear than to lose out on a
$30,000 a-year tuition, so I did as I pleased.
I looked in my mirror and ruffled my sandy blonde
hair into a designed mess; short on the sides and long on
top. I’d inherited Ma’s blue eyes, just without the green
tint.
I jotted down some answers on an English
assignment and ran out the door before Ma called my name
again. Me being the only child and her being a stay-at-
home mom, her main concern was me. Sometimes I felt
like there was more she should be doing with her life but
she said she’s too old to start a career or try anything new,
so that’s neither here nor there. I seriously wonder what
she’s gonna do when I go away to college.
By the time I made it out the door it was two
minutes to eight. It took seven minutes to walk to school.
The morning wind hit my face like a ton of bricks and I
instantly put some pep in my step, leaving behind my
yellow, semi-attached town home with it’s yellow and

11. white shutters, that I grew up in all my life. The Forest
Hills section of Queens was more residential than city-like.
Nothing about my neighborhood had changed in all my
years there. We still had the same neighbors, the small
driveway still had the same pothole that caused me to fly
off my tricycle when I was three, leaving me with the scar
on my right cheek, and the same mailman with the bald
head and silver beard still delivers promptly at 3:32.
The air was thick and opaque, as usual, and the
traffic was loud and obnoxious once I turned onto the
boulevard. The time always flew by when I walked to
school. All I had to do was sing two Michael Jackson songs
and I was there in no time. The partially blossomed trees
were a clear indication that summer was near, despite the
current, almost freezing temperatures.
Getting to school on time seemed like it never
happened, even when I tried. I was late so often, that after
three years, teachers eventually began to disregard it.
St. Anthony’s Academy stood three stories high
with its sand-colored bricks, and an annex on the south end
of the campus. A lot of spoiled rich kids from Manhattan,
my girlfriend Aubrey, included, attended there because it’s

12. such a “historically good school.” I could care less. I was
only there because Pops said I had no choice.
The inside of the school looked almost exactly like
it did when they first built it back in 1929, just a few minor
renovations. The bottom portions of the walls were
completely wooden and the windows are high and arched
with intricate patterns throughout.
It was only five minutes past the hour but the halls
were completely empty. I walked into Homeroom and
mentally prepared myself for an inevitable lecture by Mr.
Martinez on how “in the real world, fifteen minutes early is
on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”
His Spanish Harlem accent was thick as all get out.
He was an average height man with salt and pepper hair
and a medium build.
“Mr. Johanson. How nice of you to join us.
However, as I’m sure you are aware, fifteen min--”
I interrupted him.
“Everyday, Mr. Martinez, everyday. Yes, I’m
aware.” I took my usual seat in the middle row next to
Aubrey and placed my black backpack under the seat.

13. “Well, I would advise you to take your education
here at St. Anthony’s more seriously. Your looks will only
get you so far and as you’ve noticed, no grades, no varsity.
“Thanks again for reminding me, sir.”
He gave me a hard look and retreated to his desk,
unfolding his arms.
I leaned in and kissed Aubrey on the lips.
“And if there’s no varsity, there’s no me,” she said.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
I put my tongue in her mouth.
“Hey! Hey, you two! Knock it off. You know better
than that,” Mr. Martinez shot out. “The hell do ya think this
is, the Bronx?
She released herself from my kiss and flipped her
hair. She was pretty, popular, and rich; daddy’s little girl
who got any and everything she wanted. According to the
latest polls, she’s the queen of the school. You know, to say
this is a “private” institution; things sure get public really
fast.
Our relationship was so cliché, and secretly, that’s
what I hated about it; the stuck-up cheerleader dating the
varsity jock. Typical. Grosse. Expected. And contrary to
popular belief, I’m far from typical. But we were together

14. nonetheless, and have been since the beginning of the
school year. Her mother thinks I can do no wrong and her
father calls me his future son-in-law. They’re good people
and they’ve always treated me fair.
“Zack, you’re still catching the train to Manhattan
after school, right?” Aubrey said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah, I gotta go pick out my tux.”
“PLEASE make sure you get the right color of
purple.”
“Jesus Christ, Aubrey. Why are you so fixated on
purple?”
“For the millionth time, Zack, it represents royalty.”
“Oh yeah, of course. Wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t
royal,” I sighed.
“Zack, don’t be a douche bag. This is my prom
we’re talking about.”
“Hey, it’s my prom, too, ya know?”
“Prom is for girls, Zack. Guys are only there as
accessories.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a prom if this ‘accessory’
didn’t show up, now would it?”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

15. Her upper lip twitched, letting me know I had
gotten under her skin. I smiled a wide, annoying, victorious
smile. She knew she could never win with me.
The classroom door slammed and I instantly knew it
was Charlie. He’d been my best friend since elementary,
and after years of me playfully bullying him, we finally
stood the same height. He was Italian like Aubrey, with jet
black hair and a bone structure out of this world. His
eyebrows were so ridiculously thick that I wouldn’t even
judge him if he were to get them arched.
I was surprised he was late. He was never late.
“Zaccarino!” he shouted, ignoring Mr. Martinez as
he rubbed his knuckles on the top of my head before he sat
on the opposite side of me.
“Knock it off, will ya!” I said, combing my hair
back into place with my fingers.
“Hey, Aubrey.”
“Hey, Charlie.”
“What I’d miss?”
“The usual,” I replied.
“Good. Nothing,” He said, and then rested his head
on his forearm.

16. Charlie was worse in school than me. His parents
were loaded. I wouldn’t be surprised if they paid the
teachers to pass him. Studies weren’t his strong point, but
he made up for it in just about every sport.
The bell rung and we all went our separate ways.
My next two classes, Chemistry 1 and Spanish 2 flew by.
By the time lunch was over, the day just seemed to drag for
the next three hours. I ended up meeting Aubrey in front of
the school by the visitors parking and we walked to the
subway together. Though she’s considerably, already a tall
girl, her legs seemed much longer when she wore the
schools skirt uniform with her socks pulled all the way up.
The sun had found it’s way to Queens and the
clouds were no longer anywhere to be found, it was still
only about fifty-four degrees. The birds chirped away,
anxious for the winter to make its full exit so spring could
be more stabilized. The rumbling of the tracks told me that
we were soon approaching the J train. The Woodhaven
station was usually pretty quiet. It’s not until you get closer
to the city when things become hectic and overcrowded. I
found us two seats near where the rear of the train would be
stopping.

17. “I think I wanna throw some type of end-of-the-year
shindig,” Aubrey said as she sat down and crossed her legs,
pulling up her socks as far as they could possibly stretch.
The wind was always higher on the platform.
“A shindig? People still say that?”
“Or party … or whatever.”
“You should. No one else is.”
“I’d have to ask Daddy, first.”
“Oh knock it off, would ya? He never tells his little
princess ‘no’,” I teased.
“I know, right?” she agreed.
She flipped her hair again. Her favorite thing to do,
obviously, and pulled out her two-way pager. Whenever
any type of electronic device came out, she was the first
one at school to have it.
“I don’t know how you keep up with that thing. I’d
lose mine in a heartbeat.”
“Please, I’ve already lost three.”
“How responsible of you.”
“You want one? I can have Daddy buy one for you.
He knows a guy in the Bronx that sells them for cheap.”
“Nahh, I’ll stick to the good ole fashioned land
lines.”

18. “Seriously, Zack, it’s 2001. You gotta get with the
times, eventually.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The oncoming J train blew its horn and came to a
powerful stop. I lead the way and ushered Aubrey to sit
next to the window while I took the aisle seat. It’s about a
thirty-minute ride to Manhattan and I was completely in my
own world until she started to call my name.
“Zack! Zack, are you listening to me?”
I wasn’t. The screeching of the subway tracks were
overpowering her high-pitched voice and my seventeen-
year-old attention span didn’t make it any better. Not to
mention, it was New York and there’s a million and one
things going on around me. A Spanish guy was standing in
the middle of the aisle playing his acoustic guitar while a
homeless man with a mangy beard and lint-covered trench
coat panhandled between the passengers; I handed him a
dollar. I didn’t have much to give, but hey, I guess there’s
always someone less fortunate than me.
The next stop was Marcy Avenue. The anxious
commuters inched their way to the door as the train slowly
came to a stop. Fifty people scurried their way out while
fifty more bulldozed their way in. Brooklyn during rush

19. hour … great. You’d think I’d be use to it but I wasn’t. And
honestly, I could do without all the unnecessary
crowdedness that comes along with going into the city.
People piling on top of each other, rushing and falling over
one another; we didn’t have those issues in Queens. It’s a
little more civilized than the other boroughs. Well, maybe
not Staten Island, but definitely more than Brooklyn,
Manhattan and the Bronx.
The subway doors slammed close as the last of the
heathens piled on top of one another. A girl, who wasn’t
fortunate enough to make it through, hit on the door and
turned away in frustration. Suddenly, the doors popped
back open, as they often do, and she quickly slid through.
And then … time stopped. It was like she was the
only one moving, her hair blowing behind her. Even
through her frustration, she gracefully eased between the
other commuters. If that whole “love at first sight thing”
existed, then that’s what I was feeling.
“Zackory Johansson!”
I felt an elbow in the side of my rib cage.
“Sorry, Aubrey,” I said, still half-dazed, half-
smitten. I was really trying to work on being a better
boyfriend. Girls like attention; an annoying amount of it.

20. She sat up from resting her head on my shoulder. “I zoned
out,” I shamefully admitted.
She looked at me with those soft, peculiar eyes and
naturally arched eyebrows; the eyes that made me fall for
her at the beginning of the school year.
“Yeah, I’ll say,” she playfully replied.
Her thick accent was like listening to an old New
Yorker from the ‘60s. She ran her fingers through her curly,
pretzel-brown hair that kept falling over her face. Her
naturally tanned, Italian skin was smooth as I rubbed her
cheek with the back of my index finger.
“I’m gonna listen to my headphones. You don’t
mind do ya?” she asked.
“Am I boring you?”
“Pretty much,” she said nonchalantly as she slid her
headphones on. I kissed her on the cheek and she rested her
head against the window.
The train unexpectedly jolted forward and so did
everyone who was standing up. The girl’s book fell onto
my foot and I reached down to grab it. U.S. History. Ugh. I
couldn’t believe people actually took those things home
with them. I hadn’t taken a book home from school in
years. I looked up to the petite girl with long, dark hair and

21. light brown eyes. She seemed to have more hair than she
had body. She reached for the book. Her warm touch felt
good brushing against my cold, clammy hands. I hate my
hands.
She rudely didn’t thank me.
“You’re welcome,” I said, irritated. She gave a
quick glance and went back to holding on to the railing to
keep stable. “Sophomore?” I asked, looking at the book.
“What?” she asked in a standoffish tone.
“Sophomore, right?”
“No,” she replied, steadily trying to keep her
balance as the train violently rocked side to side.
“Oh.” Awkward; kind of. She continued her
interrupted life and I let her be, grabbing Aubrey’s hand
and putting it into mine, giving it a mild brush of my lips.
Her stop would be coming up shortly; Essex, the first stop
in Manhattan. There’s nothing like the view of the city
when you’re coming from Brooklyn. The April sun shined
on top of the skyscrapers, which reflected back to give it a
beautiful metallic glisten. Everything was so massive and
colossal. Almost looked to be unreal. I slouched in my seat
and leaned my head on Aubrey’s shoulder for the
remainder of time we had left together before she got off,

22. playing around with her hand while it rested in mine; her
nails short and naturally sculpted. I’m overly critical when
it comes to a girl and her hands. I don’t want anything to do
with you if your hands aren’t pretty. Weird, absolutely, but
that’s just me.
We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and entered the
underground tunnel, signaling that we were approaching
the Essex stop. Aubrey, with her eyes closed, hadn’t
realized, so I tickled her stomach.
“Get up, sleepy head. It’s almost time for you to get
off.”
She sat up and took off her headphones, putting
them into her book bag that all the cheerleaders at school
wore.
“Wow. I don’t know how I fell asleep so quickly.”
“Maybe you should stop staying up so late on the
phone with that guy,” I joked.
“Well, maybe that guy shouldn’t be so in love with
me that he can’t hang up the phone.”
“Aw, shut it up,” I teased, smiling as I kissed her on
top of the head.
“You’re a real charmer, Zack. A real charmer.”
“Well, what can I say? I’m a New Yorker.”

23. “Zack, you’re from Queens, that’s not New York.”
“Oh, really, Aubrey? We’re gonna go there today?”
“No, we’ll go there tomorrow.” She kissed me on
the cheek and hopped out of her seat as the train slowed to
a stop.
“Love ya. I’ll call ya later,” I said, shifting my legs
into the aisle so that she had room to get out.
“Love ya more.”
She hurried off before she got lost in the shuffle of
the human traffic jam. I scooted to the window to let
someone else get a chance to have a seat. The girl who
dropped the book on my foot was still standing, looking as
if she was struggling to keep her balance, while she read
some other book with one hand and held on to the rail
above her head with the other.
“You can sit down if you want, ya know?”
“I don’t mind standing,” she said, her head never
leaving the pages.
“Stand until you fall? Look like ya holding on by a
thread.” She was small and her arm just barely reached the
railing. She slightly glanced at me from the corner of her
eyes like I had somehow offended her. “Hey, I was just

24. trying to be nice, that’s all. I’m sure somebody else’ll be
glad to take this seat.”
She looked around at the oncoming traffic of
pedestrians and took the seat.
“Thanks,” she said, very short.
“What’s the matta? You never sat next to a white
guy before?”
“I don’t care about you being white.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
“I didn’t know it was a crime to want to stand.”
“Hey, you dropped your book on my foot. A heavy
book, might I add. The least you can do is be nice and take
a seat if I offer it.”
She said nothing.
“Geesh. Maybe chivalry should be dead.”
“Whatever.”
“The hell is this anyway?” I asked, snatching the
book from her grasp. It was a novel. The cover read When
The World Is Over.
“Are you crazy!”
No, I’m Zackory, and you are?”
“Annoyed.”

25. “Nice to meet you, Annoyed,” I said, annoyingly
smiling as I handed her the book.
I put my hands into the pockets of my school blazer
and turned to the window, looking out at the graffiti
passing us on the tunnel walls, wondering how in the hell
people found the courage to walk down there and actually
do that. You gotta have a lot of balls to wander
underground amongst the darkness and rats of New York
City.
“Junior,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?” I looked at her with a slight frown,
confused.
“I’m not a sophomore. I’m a junior.”
Oh. I guess she must’ve gotten over herself.
“Nice. Where at?” I asked.
“Brooklyn High School of the Arts.”
“You guys have to take history at an arts school?”
“Is that a serious question?”
I laughed. It was. What’s the point in going to an art
school when you still have to take history and all that other
irrelevant crap like math and science?
“What do you do, dance or something?” I asked.
“Dance? Why, because I’m black?”

26. “Wait, you’re black?”
“Haha,” she said sarcastically. I laughed at our
humor. It was innocent … and entertaining. “That was for
the white joke a few moments ago,” she rebutted.
“Ok, good, now we’re even. No more racist jokes.”
“What school do you go to?”
“I’m not in school.”
“Dropout?”
“Graduate.”
“Liar.”
“Totally. I’m a junior, too. I go to St. Anthony’s
Academy.”
“So I’ve known you all of two minutes and you’ve
proven yourself to be a liar and a joker. I knew I
shouldn’t’ve sat here.”
I laughed.
“So, I’m a joker,” I admitted. “I just like to have
fun, that’s all.”
“At other people’s expense.”
“Why so serious?”
She turned back to her book.
“Sorry, I’m Zackory. Most people just call me
Zack.”

27. “Zackory will do.”
“Um, ok. What’s your name?”
“Jada, but most people call me Jada.”
I gave her a blank stare. “And you say I’m the
joker? Ha!”
She slightly smirked, showing a dimple in her right
cheek that was half-hidden by her cinnamon brown
highlights, which matched almost exactly to her
complexion. She was a pretty girl to say the least.
“St. Anthony’s Academy. Isn’t that in Queens?”
“Yeah. Good ole Queens.”
“Then why are you going this way?”
“Going to meet a friend in Manhattan.”
“A friend? Or another girl?”
I smirked. She had obviously noticed Aubrey.
“Observational, huh?”
“I’m from Harlem. We’re born that way.”
“You looked like you were so into your book.”
“I was. But I’m always aware of my surroundings.”
“No, I’m going to meet my mother, actually. Gotta
go pick out my tux for prom.” She stayed quiet, so I
continued. “So you go to school in Brooklyn but you live
way up in Harlem? That’s gotta blow.”

28. “Yeah, well, anything worth having is worth going
after.”
“No denying that.”
The automated conductor gave notice that we were
approaching the 2nd Avenue stop. The train blew into the
terminal, blurring the crowd of commuters standing by
anxiously to be the first aboard. She put a bookmarker
between the pages and put the novel into her leather over-
the-shoulder bag.
“This must be your stop.”
“Yep. Green Line to Harlem.”
“See, it wasn’t so bad sitting next to a white boy,
now was it?”
“You don’t really want me to answer that,” she said,
nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Maybe even
furtively admiring how quick on her feet she was.
“Well, guess I’ll see ya next time.”
“That’s highly unlikely in New York, but thanks for
the seat, guy.”
“Zack,” I corrected.
“Zackory,” she corrected me.

29. “Zackory, your highness.” I playfully bowed as she
stood up to exit the train. She tried to refuse her smile but it
crept to the corners of her mouth and both her dimples had
become visible. “Gothcha!” I teased.
“Bye,” she said with a smile, rolling her eyes;
knowing I had won the battle.
“Bye, Jada,” I smirked.
I watched her as she forced her way onto the
platform. She was a tiny little thing, but intimidation was
not one of her worries and confidence was her key. She
held her own and made her way through the crowd that
towered over her. I watched her in route until her black
jacket became one with the traffic as the train zoomed
forward and she was no longer in my sight.