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( CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: MAKINGS OF A THUG PT. I ) May, 1993
❝ you ain't a thug, you're a ruffneck. ❞
◯
"Make sure you have enough balloons for the party!" Devon heard his aunty yell from the echoic kitchen, causing for him to wrap his lips around another rubber balloon. His cheeks puffed out a large chunk of air, delicately holding the opening with his long fingers before he began exhaling into the flap. TJ, who snuggly sat at the adjacent end of the dinning table, could somehow not grasp the concept of successfully blowing up a balloon.
"It ain't that hard man," Devon laughed, spotting his best friend's unsuccessful attempt to blow up numerous decorations. By the looks of it, he was already out of breath. "I'm lightheaded Dev," TJ gasped, which made Devon's fruitful grin widen. Arkell's birthday party was a quaint, yet joyful gathering, with family and a few of his friends from his basketball team coming to his uncle's house to celebrate.
It was, traditionally, a cookout, and Devon's uncle stayed by the barbecue in an almost... overprotective manner, claiming that only he should serve up his famous food, since he was, and he quotes, 'the best cook in the family'. That statement certainly struck a nerve with Devon's aunties. Even though the get together reminded Devon of old times in his youth, he couldn't help but feel strange, different.
People were treating him differently, and that was a problem. They didn't see him as the young, soft-spoken boy anymore. No, he was now a celebrity, a distant figure. "By the way," TJ suddenly stated, which pulled Devon out of his expansive mind state, "I'm thinkin' you should stop by one of the street battles tonight."
Devon's arms dropped, his brow plucking up as he gave his friend a bored stare. "Why do you want me to dance battle so bad?" Devon questioned, recalling the past couple of days that TJ has mischievously mentioned the local breakdancing competition, urging his friend to show off his professional feathers. But alas, Devon just wasn't interested.
Between his family and those photos—which was still floating around in the press, but Devon hoped that Hilary's efforts would soon come into play—he really didn't have time for petty competition. He liked to think of it as his new way of maturing. "Nothing, I just don't like the brothers on the street are talkin' smack 'bout you," TJ grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, "I think you're holdin' back."
"Or I just don't want to do it," Devon shrugged, puffing out his dimpled cheeks to blow up a red balloon, adding to the airy pile of balloons scattered around the table in front of them. "Please, you and I both know your ass is too competitive to just sit back and take it," TJ replied, and his friend had a point. Devon couldn't help it sometimes, but he was too combative for his own good. Winning was very serious to him.
