Rosewood

Chapter 1: Fast

(Make sure to read prologue)

January 2007

I wake up around 7:00 in the morning. I'm not even tired. I couldn't wait for today. We got a basketball game against St. Beth today. I was kind of physced up to play because I'm only a sophomore, and I got some college scouts coming to watch me play. Not just me. They got this nigga on my team that's lowkey nicer than me. His name Mozzy, plus he a little taller, so he could go further with this shit.

I'm getting all my shit together for school, when I smell weed in the air. And i'm already knowing my brother Mac lighting one up.

I ain't smoke a blunt since basketball season started, so bout 3 months. I don't be tripping over weed like most of these niggas out here, mufuckas out here going broke for the shit like some crackheads.

Mac usually drop me off at school, so I knocked on his door. He ain't even say shit. So I open the door and see a head bobbing up and down under a sheet. When he notice me watching he wave for me to get out. It kind of irritated me, but i'm really just wondering how he get a bitch to give him head this early in the morning.

I wasn't finna ruin his game, so I went outside to see how my nigga Doobie getting to school.

Doobie was like my brother. Also the funniest nigga alive, if you ask me and anybody who know Doobie. He was cool with everybody; the athletes, the girls, quiet kids, the gangsta's, everybody. He was just a pure soul, but don't get it twisted.

He ain't no spiritual nice ass nigga, hell naw. He was a real nigga, he always was trying to rib niggas. Everybody knew him for his jokes and his charm on bitches. The crazy part was, he was a skinny somewhat darkskin nigga with big lips and looked kinda rough, but I guess his personality change people's perception.

I get to the door and knock three times, and wait for like a whole minute.

"Fuck you want nigga?" Doobie asked wiping the crust out of his eyes

He ain't have a shirt or nothing, just gym shorts on.

"Fuck you nigga, how you getting to school?" I asked him.

"Man it look like I'm at school?" he asked.

I was speechless, maybe he couldn't hear, because he sounded dumb as hell. By time I was about to get on his ass, he was already putting on his hoodie and heading past me, out the door.

"I need some backwoods man, walk with me to the store." Doobie said.

Yup, that's how he got his name Doobie. This nigga been smoking consistently since the age of 7. It really wasn't his fault though, his uncle was a big time drug dealer with my dad, and the motto he gave Doobie was, "If you gone start smoking anyway, why not start now?". His mom was a addict, and his dad was killed. So he lived with his grandmother and six annoying cousins, since he was 7. I couldn't do it.

"How much you got on you?", he asked.

"Nigga how much you got?", I asked knowing he ain't have shit.

My brother always hooked me, Tariq, and moms up with bread he got off the block. Flendale Street. It stretches down about five blocks, from 71st to 75th. We the dead end block, Flendale and 75th, aka "The 5" or "F-Block"

"I'm fuckin' with ya", I told him before he started explaining why he ain't have money, like he ever do.

Just like that we was walking down the street to the store, I was about to be late for school, but I wasn't tripping.