Page 98 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
We told Anders. We wanted him to be the first to know, and he also needs to know, because as long as I’m sick, I can’t take morning shifts. Also, he’s going to need to cover everything for a few days, while we go south for a gynecology examination.
We’ll make that appointment after we’ve settled the matter of Max’s kidnapper. For now, it’s one night to rest and recuperate and—
A loud knock sounds at the front door.
Dalton looks up, eyes narrowing.
“It might be Dana,” I say, starting to rise.
“If you don’t recognize that knock by now, you really are tired.”
“Come in, Yolanda!” Anders calls, and the door opens.
Yolanda walks in and kicks off her boots before striding to the living room and looking at us.
“Celebrating finding Max?” Her toe nudges a cheese puff. “Wow. You guys really do know how to party.”
“Hey, that’s contraband right there,” Anders says. “I’ve been saving them for a special occasion.”
She reaches down to take a handful.
“Would you like some, Yolanda?” Anders asks.
“Nah, I’ve got enough,” she says, popping one into her mouth. “You wouldn’t happen to have corn chips, would you?” She peers down at the Scrabble board. “Who is trying to play ‘dawg’?”
“Do you need to ask?” I say.
“Uh, yeah, I kinda do. I can’t decide whether it’s the white guy being cringy or the Black guy who has never used that word in his life, unless it was with his suburban buddies, trying to be cool.”
“Hey!” Anders says. “I was cool.”
Her lips twitch. “Did you call them ‘bruh,’ too? Or just ‘bro’? Please tell me you wore baggy pants with your underwear hanging out.”
He lifts his middle finger, which only makes her smile break through.
“And I suppose you never did any of that, rich girl?” he says.
“Oh, hell no. I was cool. The only Black billionaire at my private school. I was a novelty. Everyone wanted to be my friend. Mostly so they could say they had a Black friend.”
“That one Black friend.”
“That’s me. You, too?”
“Hell, no. I had a Black friend, which meant everyone in my class could have two. We were very popular.”
“Even if no one could tell you apart, despite there being a six-inch height difference and the other kid wore glasses?”
“Hell, yeah.” He lifts his hand and Yolanda high-fives it. “But no, it was only a three-inch height difference, and I was the one wearing glasses.”
She takes another handful of cheese puffs. Anders waves to the bucket filled with beer bottles. “You want some beer to wash those down?”
“Don’t mind if I do. Also…” She leans over and takes back “dawg,” replacing it with “waged.” “There. More points and less embarrassing.” She turns to me. “Why aren’t you playing?”
“I’m pregnant.”
I hadn’t meant to say it like that, but once it’s out, Anders snickers as Yolanda stares at me, as if awaiting the punch line.
“I’m pregnant,” I say. “And too brain-fogged for Scrabble.”
