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scared to let him look at her with those eyes believing he could draw out her secrets with them against her will.
    Ms. Robinson was commenting on Anton’s shorts when she came out of her musing.
    “Baby, I told you time and again to pull up those shorts. I don’t understand why you boys walk around all the time lookin’ like you gotta load in your pants.”
    Anton had taken his empty glass to the kitchen.
    “Mama, what you want me to tell you? It’s the style,” he said.
    “Whose style?” she asked.
    Anton ignored her.
    “Emma, it was so good to meet you, and I do wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got class,” Ms. Robinson said.
    “No, I understand. It was nice meeting you, too,” Emma replied. And she meant it. She wasn’t sure what to expect before meeting Anton’s mother, but she found that she liked her immediately. Ms. Robinson was warm and funny and comfortable.
    Anton’s mother collected her bags at the front door and kissed her son goodbye. She turned to Emma once more and said, “I’m sure I’ll be seein’ you again.”
    When she left, Emma looked at Anton who was still standing in the kitchen.
    “Your mother is so nice,” she said.
    “I know it,” he replied. “My mama’s the best in the world.”
    “You know, I think you may be right about that,” Emma said in all sincerity, and he found it a peculiar statement.
    “So tell me what you really think of this place,” he said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Girl, please. I know where you live. This apartment prolly the size of yo’ bedroom,” he said.
    “What do you want me to say?”
    “Nothing. Forget it. I ain’t tryin’ to make you feel uncomfortable. Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
    She followed him down the hallway and poked her head inside when he pointed out his mother’s room. She noticed a lot of lavender. Directly across from his mother’s room was his bedroom, and he opened the door for her to go in. She hesitated at the threshold.
    “What? Nothin’ gonna jump out and bite you,” he said.
    When she still didn’t move, he asked, “You never been in a boy’s room before?”
    “Actually no, I haven’t,” she replied.
    “You think you ‘bout to do somethin’ wrong walkin’ into my bedroom, huh? Yo’ mama and daddy teach you never to go in a boy’s room, didn’t they?” He looked down at her shiny hair and knew he was absolutely right.
    She ignored him, raising her head in defiance, and walked inside. It looked like a typical boy’s room. He had several posters of rap artists on the wall. She thought she recognized one of them. His clumsily-made bed had a dark blue duvet cover on it. She could see a hint of plaid sheets underneath. There was no headboard and footboard. She didn’t know why she thought that was odd. A desk beside the bed held stacks of CD’s and books along with disorganized papers and a few pictures. A chest of drawers opposite the desk was piled high with paraphernalia as well. She was curious to go through it.
    “Well, this is it,” he said.
    She stood in the middle of the room looking around. It was then that she noticed several piles of books stacked in the corner—so many books, in fact, that it put her small collection to shame. She wasn’t prepared to see something like that in his bedroom and heard herself address him a bit snobbishly.
    “Don’t tell me you’ve actually read all those,” she said pointing to the teetering piles.
    “Why you think I haven’t?” he asked. “You think I can’t read or somethin’?”
    “I didn’t say you couldn’t read,” she replied. She walked over to the books and picked up a worn copy of Huckleberry Finn . She laughed and showed Anton.
    “Why you think that’s so funny? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ well read,” he argued. “And anyway, that shit is good.”
    Emma replaced the book and picked up another. “ Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas ?” she asked.
    “Girl, just read that book and you ain’t never