celebration. My father was laughing, my mother was reapplying her lipstick, Ania was taking selfies. They were packing up, ready to go celebrate.
Marcus was the first to notice me. He looked up, and that oily, self-satisfied smirk spread across his face. “Oh, look who’s back. Still here, Ammani? I thought you’d be halfway to Harlem by now to check on continue reading …
