??????????.

"What is your problem?" Her face went from resting to irritated in a matter of moments as she gave Nas his books.

"You my prollem, Crown Heights." Kross's tone was serious and annoyed, and a nervous pit formed in his lower abdomen at the intimidating interaction.

What's going on? I thought her name was Harlem...

"I barely even know you, how am I your problem? And that's not even my name, the joke is old now."

"Shut up talkin' to me. Come on Nas."

"B-Bye Harlem." And with that Nas ran to catch up with the older boy.

"What's w-wrong with her, W-Whoopty?" Nas questioned, hesitation laced in his voice while he peered up at his best friend, whose face held an annoyed look until Sebastian talked, and Kross let out a heavy sigh while swiftly running his pink tongue over his bottom lip before responding.

"She be around them niggas who be bullying you, and Ion know what her intentions are. Ion want anythin' happenin' to you, Nas," Kross explained, his voice way more gentle than when he was snapping on Harlem.

She's nice, though... Sebastian thought, a small frown beginning to form on his lips at his best friend's words.

She didn't seem to be mean at all— after all, she did stick up for him— but Kross was right about one thing: She hung out with the people who bullied him. Even still, he liked her. Harlem didn't seem like a bully, because if she was, she wouldn't have stood up for him, or even helped him look for new books to read.

"You wanna go to the store now?" He attempted to lighten up the sullen mood, nudging his arm with his shoulder playfully. "Kaze gave me some money."

"Y-Yeah." Nas smiled at his friend.

Sebastian couldn't help but let his mind drift back to the interaction between Harlem and him, and a deep frown replaced the smile that was once on his dark brown face.

She was nice. And Nas liked her, despite her hanging around Rome and Blick.

He hoped to see her again, but he doubted that he would.

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𝐍𝐀𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍-𝐂𝐘𝐏𝐑𝐔𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.
⥊𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘛 𝘕𝘌𝘞 𝘠𝘖𝘙𝘒, 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘒𝘓𝘠𝘕, 𝘕𝘠⥊
𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓, 𝟐:𝟎𝟎 𝐩.𝐦.
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"When you wake up in the morning, momma yellin' in ya room. Like can I get five more minutes? Shit, Ian really trippin' over school, let's get, Whiz Khalifa high yeahhh," The melodic autotuned-laced voice of Fetty Wap flowed through the black earbud that rested snuggly in the ear belonging to none other than Naji.

Naji mumbled along to the lyrics while staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his decent-sized room, his legs propped up mountain-style as he laid on his back. The golden initial chain he always wore laid in a disheveled manner against his shirt while he fiddled with it.