Secret Saturdays Read Online Free PDF Page B

obviously didn’t want to talk no more so I took the Black Bald disc out and put the radio on.
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    Sean said he couldn’t be around for our sleepover, and later that night he wasn’t. It was just me and Kyle in my room at two in the morning.
    â€œDo you urinate frequently?” the man on TV asked. The wildest commercials came on TV late at night. “If you’re sixty-five or older and you can’t control your bladder, this commercial is for you.”
    I sat on my bed with my back against my wall. “What you think about this commercial?” I asked Kyle.
    He was in my wheelie chair at my desk, playing on my computer. Kyle stopped, spun toward the TV, took one finger, and pushed his glasses up his nose. He did that whenever he was figuring something out. Kyle nodded twice. “It’s whatever, whatever.” He got back on the computer.
    I switched channels.
    Trying to stay up with Kyle without Sean was kind of wack. Kyle was the quietest of us. Laid-back. He didn’t rush into things and didn’t get excited fast. He thought maybe three times before speaking or acting once. I respected how he thought deep about things because I could be that way too. But Kyle was that way 24/7. His mood was “Do you, I do me. Mind your business, I mind mine.” At other times, I liked being more like Sean. Sean could just be wild. Since Kyle couldn’t be that way, trying to bug out with him right now was tough.
    â€œFifty-two shots and all you cats drop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Don’t even step on my block.”
    Finally! I found something good on television. Black’s new video. “Yeah, Black!” I said.
    Kyle was feeling the video because he nodded to Black’s beat. He made his voice low like how Black sounded and rapped Black’s rhyme:
    You wanna come to where I rest and disrespect? Punk, you’ll get checked, wrecked. I’ll break your neck.
    I made my voice as deep as Kyle’s and jumped in to rap Black’s next part with him. Kyle turned around to face me, and it was almost like we were battling, barking Black’s words at each other:
    You on the wrong side of the tracks.
    Trace back your footsteps to where you live at Before you get smacked and jacked.
    On that last word, me and Kyle started laughing. I didn’t know why. We just did.
    â€œOh man,” Kyle breathed out hard. “That was fun.” But then he went back to playing his game.
    But I was still pumped from rapping and wanted to keep going. You corny, Kyle, I thought. Back on the computer. If he’d been Sean, he wouldn’t have done that. Me and Sean probably would’ve started freestyling. Made up our own rhymes. Had a rap battle.
    I wondered if Sean was up right now. I had energy and didn’t know what to do with it. I changed channels until I found another video I liked.
    â€œKyle, you saw this one?” I was about to raise the volume when I looked at my digital clock. It was 2:15 in the morning. My mom would flip if I turned it up.
    I left the volume alone.
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    Out my window I heard the stoop door slam, but nobody was there when I checked. Sometimes, at four, five in the morning, you didn’t need to watch TV to stay up. Just watch my stoop. People argued and fought down there. Drunks, crackheads, drug dealers. Right now, I couldn’t tell if the stoop door slamming meant drama.
    Kyle was laid out on my bed. Asleep. Even though the television was on. His eyes half open and rolled up in his head. He maybe could sleep through a fire. I turned off the television and there was another slam. I went back to the window. What I saw bugged me out.
    â€œSean, baby.” Sean and his mom stepped off the stoop. “Wake up.”
    Sean was half asleep and standing wobbly like he was about to fall over. His mother put one hand under his arm to hold him up. She had a small suitcase in her other hand. Tiny enough for a weekend trip. I backed a bit out of the