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Somewhere in Oakland

Abir was laid back with his arms above his head and his hat that was backwards on his head, now resting on his face on Nylah's princess themed comforter while the rest of the party was downstairs.

He'd go down for the cake. He wasn't a fan of awkward dinners.

He wasn't hungry anyway, so it didn't really matter.

On the flip side, Syara was starving.

She had forgotten to eat before she left, opting to let water fill her stomach until the food was ready.

Unfortunately, though, she was tasked with serving the food to the children after she made Nylah's plate and a line formed behind her.

"The rest of y'all good and grown." She told them, placing the tongs down after the last kid to go wash her hands for a second time.

By the time she came back to the kitchen, it was swarmed with adults. Her stomach was already growling and niggas were pigging out while they were still getting their food.

Camarro, who was sat at the long dining table, looked around the kitchen as a realization dawned on him.

"Aye, Kisses?" He called to her where she was stood sourfaced with her arms crossed since the other people had pushed her to the side when she was trying to get her food.

Normally, she would have fucked the whole party up, but she was working on herself, and it was her niece's party. Nobody had to die for now.

"Where Eli at?" He asked her, barbecue sauce covered hand hovering over his plate. Nylah had told him that her Uncle came.

Kisses mean mugged his plate, clamping her lips in a straight line, so she didn't cuss him out.

"He's upstairs, daddy." Nylah informed her father, dutifully. She was a little confused as to why he didn't follow them downstairs, she was almost sure he was right behind her out the door.

From where she was standing, Syara could clearly see Yalena, Camarro's mother, sigh and look down to her plate.

She never liked the woman, but she never cared to dislike her. She just thought it was weird how she always posed as victim anytime something happened. Those were the kind of people Syara chose to stay away from.

Camarro smacked his lips, looking to Syara. "Would you go get him?"

He knew that Elijah regularly went the whole day without eating a thing. Habit he had gained in childhood and perfected in Juvie and Jail.

Hooty snorted into his food. He and Syara were equally as close as he and Abir. He knew that they didn't like each other, it was kind of obvious.

Syara flared her nostrils, controlling her breathing and praying to Olumdumare above that there would be something left for her to eat by the time they'd all finished.

As she passed Hooty, who was scarfing his food down his throat, she flinched at him, making Ron-Ron laugh and point in his direction.

She grudgingly made her way upstairs, cursing herself for taking her time in the bathroom to empty all the water she had drank for the day to curb her appetite.

As she made her way, silently, to Nylah's room, she noticed the cracked door. She gently peaked into it, looking around to find him on the bed with his hat on his face and his arms crossed above his head.

Syara trailed her eyes from the hat where his face should've been down to his partially exposed lower stomach where ink was embedded into his skin as it rose and fell steadily. She thought tattoos were art, always had.

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