Navigating through the familiar stretch of our street, my gaze naturally gravitated towards a gathering of individuals, their presence a palpable assertion of ownership over the corner they occupied. Their attire, a monochrome symphony of black and white, seemed orchestrated to harmonize with each other as if showcasing a silent declaration of belonging. Ink etched into their skin, narrating tales of their lives, transforming their bodies into living canvases.

Among them stood Little Micky, a diminutive figure whose statue belied his influence within the group. His ebony sleek back locks did little to add inches to his frame, shielded behind dark shades that hid his gaze from the relentless glare of the sun. Chad in knee-length black trousers and long white socks that ascended beneath, concealing his bare calves from view, he exuded an air of authority despite his size. And he was more than just a figurehead; he was my father's closest friend.

Waving me down I obliged by veering slightly to the side. Micky, along with Chewy, and Biggs walked up to Sammy's and Kara's side of the windows. "What's up, little miss Cammy?" Chewy's voice boomed through the air, prompting giggles from the girls in the back as his sizable head emerged though the passenger window.

His curls, dark and unruly, were tamed today into a streamlined bun, though rebellious fringes escaped that framed his face with a touch of wildness. He casually perched his shades behind his head showing his full features. A faded teardrop tattoo adorned the left corner of his eye, its once-bold lines now softened into a ghostly grey, a stark contrast to the ink peeking from beneath the collar of his shirt.

"Move your big ass head," Micky grumbled, nudging his friend aside with a shove.

Leaning down at our level, his arms dangled at the base of the window frame. He took his shades off revealing his cloudy blues. Fixing his gaze upon me, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eye. "How's it going, princess?

The moniker grated against me, a relic from childhood that refused to fade. At eighteen, being called "princess" was the least desirable title I could imagine.

I rolled my eyes in response, a silent protest to his teasing. Micky's grin widened at my irritation, reveling in the familiar banter we shared. I knew why he'd flagged me down, and the anticipation gnawed at me as I waited for his inevitable inquiry.

"So, how are you really doing?" he pressed on, his tone softer now, tinged with genuine concern. "Your old man's been asking about you. Says you haven't been by lately."

"Aw, come on Camila," Chewy interjected, his voice a thunderous interruption from the background. "You ain't talk to your dad?"

"Shut it, Chewy," Sammy shot back, her voice cutting through the air as she looked back at him. "Mind your own business."

"Alright, alright, chill, Sammy," Chewy relented, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as he backed away from the impending confrontation with my fiercely protective best friend.

Micky's laugh rumbled through the car. "Better watch out, we got the real Sammy the Bull right here."

As his chuckle faded into the background, I felt a vibration beneath me. My phone chimed, and I snatched it up eagerly, greeted by my mother's familiar face again.

"She said she could watch him. I ordered pizza for dinner. It should be there in like an hour, love you."

Relief washed over me, unknotting the tension in my stomach. With that settled, the only task left was informing the girls that I wouldn't be joining them at the party tonight.

I texted back. "Love you," before putting my phone away.

Across the street, a group of teenagers engaged in a spirited game of basketball on the courts adjacent to our apartment building. My gaze lingered past the courts and onto the colossal tower I called home. Its size daunting even from this distance. Though spacious on the outside, the cramped quarters within barely accommodated three people. Thoughts of my little brother flashed through my mind, and I checked the time on the warn dashboard.

"I gotta get going, Micky. Need to pick up Santiago," I announced, shifting the car into drive.

"Your dad really misses you, Camila," Micky remarked, a tinge of sincerity coloring his voice. His arms still in place as they dangled like cuffed chains.

Glancing between him and Sammy, who shot me a silent offer to roll up the window with a flick of her fingers, I kept my responses curt. "Been busy with work. Don't have the time."

I had no desire to justify myself to someone affiliated with the gang, especial one that had put my father in jail. The HB Kings, known as Highbridge Kings, had ripped him away from his true family for good, leaving me with bitter memories. Santiago had never known life with a father present. Locked up since his birth, our father's absence has stretched for eight long years.

"I get it," Micky conceded, sensing my reluctance. "I'll tell him you said hi, okay?" With that, he retreated to his spot among the others.

Liberated at last, I etched a mental note into the recesses of my mind, vowing to steer clear of that particular stretch of road in the future.

Driving in my apartment parking lot section. I maneuvered into a space already teeming with cars, I claimed it before anyone else could swoop in.

"You don't really have to pick up Tio, do you? "Becky questioned from the backseat.

I sucked in a breath exhaling slowly, attempting to quell the simmering anger that always seemed to swirl around my father.

"You, okay?" Sammy's voice was laced with genuine concern as she rested a comforting hand on my shoulder, snaping me out of spiraling thoughts.

Turning to face her, I noticed the freckles dotting the expanse of her rosy cheeks, illuminated by the sun's gentle rays that shined through the front windshield. Her eyes, unwavering, held mine, a silent beacon of understanding amidst the boiling kettle of my emotions.

The weight of my father's incarceration no longer bore down on me with the same intensity as it once did. Instead, it was the absence Tio was enduring that gnawed at my soul. My heart hurt for my little brother, for the void that should have been filled with a father's love and guidance. Santiago is my everything, the embodiment of innocence and affection.

"Do you want me to swing back around that corner and let the hurricane out on them?" Sammy's tone was deadly serious, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. It was almost enough to coax a smile from my lips. "Because I'll do it, starting with Chewy."

A chuckle bubbled up from within me, spreading like wildfire until the others joined in. Sammy's offer of retribution was both absurd and heartwarming. Before I knew it, she enveloped me in a tight embrace, her arms a comforting shield against the darkness that threatened to consume me. Soon, the rest of my friends joined in, their warmth wrapping around me like a soft warm blanket.

"No, but really, are you picking up Santiago?" Becky's voice, barely above a murmur, pierced the moment.

We released our hold, our camaraderie momentarily disrupted. "Really Becky? We were in the midst of a bonding moment," Kara interjected, her words laced with a hint of jest. Soon after the group released a cascade of mirthful sounds.

As the laughter subsided, all eyes turned to me, awaiting my response. "So, about that," I began, a hint of hesitation creeping into my voice.

"Oh, come on, Camila. It's Reggie's big party tonight. His parents are out of town for the whole weekend," Becky implored, her arms draped over the headrest of my seat, her eyes pleading.

"Everyone's going to be there, girl," Kara chimed in, her voice tinged with excitement.

"I'm sorry, guys, I can't. My mom's doing an overnighter. I've got to watch Tio," I explained, reaching for my bag by Sammy's feet, stuffing in my pack of cigarettes and lighter. "Plus. I've got to cover a shift in the morning anyway."

"How are we going to get there?" Kara vocalized the collective concern.

"The only person I can think of is Tyler," Becky suggested.

Sammy shifted her body to the back, her tone firm. "Hell no, we are not riding with Tyler. Are you crazy?"

"That's social suicide," Kara Protested.

As they bickered over a ride, I overheard mention of walking-an option I immediately dismissed. Though nobody dared challenge a Bronx native, and especially one from Highbridge, we weren't invincible, and I refused to take any chances. Clearing my throat loudly, I silenced all the whining.

"Take my car," I said, locking eyes with Sammy, the only one I trusted with my hooptie car-though, with a dent on the passenger's side and paint peeling from sun damage, it couldn't fare much worse. My 1995 Ford Escort was my baby, every penny of savings invested in it.

Sammy eyed me skeptically, as if waiting for a punchline. "I'm serious. Take my car for tonight, and just bring it back in the morning before I have to work," I affirmed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Sammy's gaze softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I trust you'll have her back in one piece," I added, retrieving the car key from my keychain and placing it in her hand. "With a full tank of gas."

"There it is, the catch," Sammy teased, playfully pointing at me.

"You didn't think you'd be using up my gas, did you? Nothing's free in Highbridge unless you steal it, and you're just borrowing." I retorted, a playful smirk gracing my lips.

"Tis true, she speaks wise words, this Camila," Kara chimed in, sealing our agreement with a slick handshake gesture.